Daughter of the Revolution
by Penelope Lane
Summary: Tavington is enlisted to escort a wealthy Boston merchant's daughter to Cornwallis. She is a fierce but silent patriot. She also happens to meet a certain Gabriel Martin along the way. Chapter 18 is up-for those of you still reading! It's Cowpens!
1. Chapter 1

Marcelline Essex rose early on a chilly January morning. She threw on her dressing gown quickly; the house was freezing and the carefully banked fire in her fireplace had gone out. After she'd impatiently run the service bell for Anna, her chamber maid, Marcelline proceeded to throw five dresses out of her wardrobe and finally decided on a suitable one. With Marcelline holding onto the bedpost, Anna laced her up quickly, placed a mink stole around her mistress' shoulders and relit the fire.

"Will you be doing your correspondences now in your chamber, Miss Marcelline?" Anna asked timidly, "or right after breakfast?"

"I'll take my breakfast in here," Marcelline replied, making herself comfortable at her desk. "Then I will go down to the Wharf for some shopping. Give me a list of what cook wants."

"Certainly, miss." Anna said dutifully, but was secretly annoyed by the fact that her mistress insisted on doing the daily errands because she thought aristocratic life was boring, "Oh and a letter from England came early this morning. And your aunt has already breakfasted and is in the drawing room. I believe she's started a new embroidery project today."

"Thank you, Anna." Marcelline took the letter and opened it, dreading the contents as she recognized the handwriting.

_Dear Marcelline,_

_I write you with exciting news. I've conversed at length with a certain Col. Tavington. He needs a place to board his troops (and himself) while briefly staying in Boston before journeying back down south to subdue the rebel forces. I believe that Cornwallis has ordered him to do so; to keep him away from the action for reasons to which I am not privy. I've offered up our Beacon Hill home (and possibly our Charleston one if the need arises) for the Green Dragoons._

_Only sincere hospitality is expected during their stay through the spring. You must make sure the officers have their fill of food and drink as they will be staying in the house. The rest of the cavalry will be staying in temporary housing on our grounds. I suggest you hold your rebellious tongue in the presence of His Majesty's troops. You know I am displeased with your staying in Massachusetts but you can at least be a good hostess. I am sure your mother would be proud if you do so._

_Philip, George and I have been hunting fox here at the estate. There has not been much snow, which makes for a good hunt. We really wish you could join us and forget Massachusetts and reside in your true home of England. Things seem to be unraveling fast over there and yet you choose to keep yourself in danger. I hope Aunt Lucy is looking after you._

_Please write, Marcelline. In spite of these conditions, I do wish to hear from you._

_Your ever loving father._

Marcelline folded the letter back up and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It shook her to the core that her relationship with her father was strained, especially because of the current political and military conditions in the American colonies. Marcelline loathed the idea of have actual redcoat soldiers in her house. They'd always had a distant relationship to begin with, being that Lord Essex was always travelling around the colonies and Caribbean as a merchant.

The second son in the wealthy, noble Essex family,his older brother had gotten the family estate and he was left to make his own fortune in the world. Lord Essex chose the American colonies wisely, namely the Massachusetts Bay colony in which to make his fortune. He soon found success with the trade of sugar, rum and molasses. With the money made from these goods, he built houses in both Philadelphia and Charleston. This was extremely rare during this timemany merchants limited themselves to their own colony but Lord Essex was a shrewd business man and because of his intercolonial dealings, he became one of the richest merchants in America. All of this business left little time for a daughter whose mother had died during childbirth.

But times were changing. Being a fierce loyalist, Lord Essex was vehemently against the revolution. At the same time his brother, Henry, passed away, leaving the Essex family estate to him due to the fact that he had no heirs himself. Jumping at the opportunity to return to England, (as he'd ultimately decided to do in spite of his brother's untimely death) Lord Essex and his two sons moved back promptly.

A light mid morning snow had begun to fall and Anna entered with breakfast and Cook's errand list.

"Anna," Marcelline sighed as she took three bites of a scone, "please let the entire household know that we will be quartering His Royal Majesty's Green Dragoons and that the guest rooms need to be cleaned. Change the linens and put new coals in for the warming pans."

"Yes, Miss."

Marcelline took the list: "I'll inform Aunt Lucy of the change in plans."

Anna curtseyed and began to clear away the uneaten food. Marcelline threw her cloak around her shoulders and darted downt the stairsher father had not mentioned when the Dragoons would be arriving so she had to act quickly.

The snow began blowing around as Marcelline reached the drawing room. She found Aunt Lucy by the large window that overlooked the back garden bundled up in her rocking chair doing some embroidery. The old woman was Lady Lucinda Essex, the aunt of Lord Charles Essex, Marcelline's father. She was an old maid whom was deemed the appropriate guardian for her headstrong niece during the tentative, transitional phase as Lord Essex slowly drained all New World assets in perparation for a permanent residence back in England. He was among the very few members of the nobility whom believed the war would not be won, yet he'd never voice his opinion in polite society.

Aunt Lucy was wonderfully oblivious that she never noticed Marcelline leaving every Wednesday afternoon to go down to the local tavern to listen to Boston's most ferocious patriots. Her blindness and deafness also contributed to the unheard of yet slightly concealed free reign Marcelline had over the house. Aunt Lucy always meant to keep the household together but it was Marcelline who ruled the roost. With her mob cap ever askew, Aunt Lucy maintained a strict schedule of morning cross stitch, afternoon quilting bees and nightly card games with the geriatric Boston elite.

"Oh! Marcelline!" She exclaimed, "and how does this morning find you?"

"Very well, dear aunt," Marcelline glided in with a plastered smile on her face, "Father just wrote with some exciting news. He's arranged for the Green Dragoons to be quartered here for a few months. I must go down to the Wharf to stock up on enough food and drink."

"Oh heavens, how wonderful!" The old woman adjusted her wire rimmed spectacles, "isn't that lovely?"

"Yes, dear aunt," Marcelline was already on her way out the door, "I shall be back by this afternoon for tea."

She didn't even wait for her aunt's response and Marcelline was off down the long lane toward the Long Wharf. Once there, she handed over a list to a nearby blacksmith's apprentice, gave him a tuppence and told him to get three of everything on the list and to meet her back at the Custom's House when the clock struck three. Every grocer, butcher and fish monger in Boston knew that if a blacksmith apprentice appeared in their booth or shop with a list including dried cranberries, leg of lamb and scrod that the cost would go to the Essex tab.

Meanwhile, Marcelline strolled around the streets, contemplating on whether or not she should buy the hat she'd seen in the milliner's window. She decided that she deserved a hat with some questionable times coming. As she stepped back out onto the street with her hood down, proudly displaying her new purchase, she heard her name:

"Miss Essex!"

"Good day, Mr. Hancock!"

"How are you today?" He asked, tipping his hat to her.

"Very well, and you?"

"Couldn't be better,"John smiled suavely, giving her a small wink; he was a very well known skirt chaser (and, consequently, a wealthy merchant who was one of Lord Essex's rivals). "I hear General Gates is recovering well from the Battle at Camden!"

"Wonderful news!" Marcelline cried, "how I wish I could tell you news that was just as fortunate!"

"What is the matter?" Mr. Hancock asked as they strolled around the streets nearby the Wharf.

"Under the orders of Lord Essex,"Marcelline sighed dramatically," I am to be hostess to His Majesty's Green Dragoons until the spring."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"If you have any difficulties," Mr. Hancock took her hand concernedly, "you know whom to come to. We must stick together. It was good to see you but I must be off to see if my runner made it through the blockade with the order of rum I've been awaiting!"

"Of course, Mr. Hancock," Marcelline blushed at his touch, "I shall see you soon."

She walked over to the Customs House at three and the blacksmith's apprentice was waiting for her with many baskets and bundles.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She asked, "take it to the Essex estate! Do you know where that is?"

"Yes, miss."

"Here is another tuppence to quicken your journey."

"Thank you, miss!"

Before the boy scampered off, Marcelline took a small pouch of dried cranberries to snack on during the walk home. Her pace was leisurely until the wind began to pick up and the snow came down harder. She was looking forward to some hot tea and then some hardy supper. Just as she opened the gate, she saw the blacksmith apprentice coming from her house.

"Oh miss!" he cried, "now I see why you needed so much food!"

Marcelline looked at him quizzically before breaking into a run toward her front door. As she neared the house, the snow seemed to part, showing about thirty men on horseback who had gathered at the front step. Her heart sank for she'd not mentally prepared for this. Aunt Lucy, on the other hand, was very enthusiastic, chatting with the soldiers. Some of the younger, newer dragoons were relieved to come in contact with such a cheery, maternal figure after spending all of their time with Col. William Tavington, the most brutal of all soldiers in the British military.

As Marcelline made it to the crowd, many turned to greet her, relieved at her presence for an entirely different reason.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen,"she smiled broadly as the cold and her disenchantment would allow, "welcome to the Boston Essex estate. I hope that I can make your stay here as comfortable as possible."

Only when she called for Ben, the stablehand to take the horses did Marcelline release the fierce grip she had on the cranberry bag.

"Please gentlemen," Aunt Lucy beamed,"come in and warm yourself by the fire. You've arrived just in time for tea and Cook is preparing a wonderous turkey for tonight's supper."

The dragoons filed into the house and chose the extravagant comfort of the drawing room and all made themselves comfortable after a month and a half of traveling up from South Carolina by sea. Colonel Tavington's tactics were deemed out of line with how Cornwallis intended to conduct the war and drove him northward to cool off.

"Now," Marcelline entered the house, staying in the doorway of the drawing room, "which of you is Col. Tavington?"

"I am." A voice came from behind her.

A very tall man with piercing blue eyes entered the house. The sound his boots made on the pine floors seemed to echo in Marcelline's ears.

"Excuse me for my tardiness," he said stonily, clearly not caring, " I was tending to some things in the city."

He was, in fact, sending a desperate message to Lord Cornwallis notifying him of their arrival and asking him to turn right back around.

"Good afternoon, Col. Tavington," Marcelline managed to say, as his presence made her very nervous, "my name is"

"Marcelline Essex, yes, I know who you are." He brushed past her and got a dragoon out of a seat so that he could sit down by the fire, "I need some tea."

"Certainly," Marcelline's voice shook but she could not control it. She did not like this man coming into her house.

Some tea was served and Aunt Lucy struck up some friendly and inane conversation with the dragoons. But their conversation was cut short as Col. Tavington barked orders for setting up their temporary housing in the front lawn of the house. The faces of the men fell as they returned their tea cups to Sullivan, the butler and ventured out into the snowy dusk.

Just as Marcelline was about to open her mouth to lay down some ground rules, Col. Tavington had beaten her to it.

"We'll be coming in and out as we please," he stated, not looking at her as he warmed his hands and took off his hat, "and using your horses if we need to"

"If I may suggest, Col," Marcelline strutted towards him and took a breath, "you may want to stay close to the house at hight and probably in general, because Boston is extremely patrioticthey will tell you themselves. I assume without a doubt you were met with some animosity as you rode into the city."

"I will decide what is best for my men."

"C-certainly." She forced herself to sit down on her chaise lounge, "how was your journey?"

"Arduous and tiresome," he sighed, still not bothering to look at her, "But your house looks quite luxurious. I expect to have one just like it in Ohio as soon as this blasted war is over with."

"Uh, thank you, Col," Marcelline had meanwhile gone over to the liquor tray and poured herself a glass of port. She gulped the drink down, "my father also owns two other houses in Philadelphia and Charleston but they are vacant being that my aunt and I are here and my brothers and father are in England..."

"Your brothers and father are the smart ones then," he remarked snidely, "and here you are, staying in the most rebellious city in these colonieslike you said yourself. everything, of course, will be fine once we subdue these animals."

Marcelline stared at him from behind, aghast at his attitude. The room was silent.

"I do not think," she fumed softly, "that your insolence is acceptable when I offer you my hospitality."

"You are not the one," he fired back and turned quickly in his chair to face her, "who has offered your house. It was your father. And I'll be damned if I'm going to put up with the fact that in four months time I'm going to have to take you with us when we move back down to South Carolina to finish off the rebels."

"I...do not understand..."

"Your father," Col Tavington spat, "sent me a letter saying that in return for his hospitality, I'd take you to safer ground, namely Middleton Place in South Carolina. Your father apparently wants you to stay there until you permanently move back to England."

Marcelline was silent with shock. Then only said, "not "move back' but move there for the first time. I've never been to England. This is a surprise to me. I was unaware that my father had arranged all of this without my knowledge."

"No matter," Col sighed tiredly, sipping his tea, "you shall be unfortunately accompanying the Green Dragoons across these colonies to South Carolina. Believe me, Miss Essex, I do not look forward to it."

His tone was seeped in disgust for her very presence and she resented it. Marcelline was aching with frightened fury. All she wanted to do was stay in her beloved Boston.


	2. what will it take for her not to have a ...

Chapter 2Thanks for the reviews...I really, really appreciate it. I had the entire story written down in a black notebook. The notebook, since January has been AWOL. I have no clue where it ran off. My talent for recollection is being tested as I wrote this story 4 YEARS AGO. So...bare with me. The first chapter is already much different from what I had written down...

Marcelline was in a haze all through dinner. She spoke very little as Aunt Lucy carried on the conversation with the officers. Colonel Tavington, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table, glanced at Marcelline from time to time. What a mopey, spoiled child she seemed. It was a shame that such a pretty face should go with such a disagreeable personality. He sipped his wine as he looked at her and hoped that Marcelline would not prove to be a liability on their precarious journey down to South Carolina. Tavington loathed having to follow such shallow orders from Cornwallis. He did not even want to leave the action but his brutality after the Battle of Camden at the Martin Plantation had proven to Cornwallis just how ruthless he could be. On top of not wanting to leave South Carolina, Tavington was now to be saddled with this girl on his journey back. He almost did not enjoy the rump roast and potatoes on which he was feasting.

Directly following the meal, Aunt Lucy retired early and unknowingly left a nervous Marcelline with the Green Dragoon officers.

"Let me call for Anna," she swallowed hastily, "she shall show you to your rooms."

Marcelline rang the bell. There was no answer; Anna was busy down in the kitchen cleaning the unusually large amount of pots and pans which were used in the preparation of the meal.

I...I don't know where she could be..." Marcelline stammered uneasily.

"Why can't _you_ just show us to our rooms?" Col. Tavington asked exasperatedly.

"I suppose I have no choice." She said under breath as she took a candle and led them into the front hall and up the staircase.

Marcelline showed each officer his living quarters one by one until she was consequently alone with Tavington in the dark hallway. She kept her distance as they made their way over to the last vacant guest room.

"Here it is, Colonel," she squeaked, "I am certain that you will find it very comfortable."

"I wonder where _her_ room is." Tavington thought, then said, "I am certain I will. Good night."

"Good night." Marcelline managed a smile as he shut the door.

Her heart stopped pounding through her ribcage and after a long exhale, she spun around to go back to her room, which was diagonally across from his. In her haste, Marcelline's only light source, the meager candle, was blown out, leaving her in complete darkness. She bumped into the wall only once before making it to her door knob. Marcelline was careful to lock her door after getting into her room. She found her way to her fireplace and found some tinder with which to relight her candle. Marcelline sat down at her dressing table and let her hair down. By the dim light of her little candle, she slipped out her dress and let it fall to the floor. Just as she struggled out of her stay (for Anna was still missing) there was a resounding knock at her door.

"Who is it?" She asked, brushing her hair.

"Col. Tavington." Came the answer.

Marcelline was jolted into throwing the brush down and grabbing her dressing gown to cover herself. After a second of attempting to regain composure, she unlocked and opened the door. He stood there without his green coat on, which was the first time Marcelline had seen him like this. A swift intake of breath reminded her to breathe.

"Your dunce of a butler or maid or whomever," he seethed with anger yet noticed her hair falling about her shoulders, "had forgotten to put hot coals in my warming pan. It is absolutely frigid in my room."

"I'm terribly sorry, Colonel," Marcelline's voice trembled violently as her heart began to pound, "I really do not know where Anna is at this moment but I shall give you some of my coals from my warming pan. I truly do not want to journey all the way back down the stairs in search for just a few coals."

She fetched her warming pan and went over to his room, Tavington following closely by her all the way. Marcelline leaned over the bed, poured four coals into the pan and closed the lid. Tavington was quick to notice her the bodice of her nightgown being pulled taut as she reached to steady her hand. He averted his eyes just in time as she finished.

"There," she said, pulling back from the bed and heading for the door, "that should do for tonight. I deeply apologize for that. Anna shall get a scolding in the morning."

"Yes. Thank you." He said quickly, attempting not to look at her chest any more than he'd already done.

Marcelline scurried out and Tavington heard her door promptly close. He cursed himself for feeling so tenderly for her at such an inappropriate time. He cursed himself for having to remind himself that he was on duty and that nothing should interfere with his responsibilities.

"During this stay in Boston," he muttered as he turned down the bed, "I will focus on getting back to South Carolina, strengthening the ranks and winning this damned war. Nothing shall get in my way."

Marcelline climbed into bed and gathered the bed clothes around her as she did not have enough coals in her warming pan. She'd never been so uncomfortable in her life. These strange men were now to live in her beautiful house, in her beautiful New England city and encroach on her life. She'd never been so cold in her very own bedroom before and now Marcelline felt that there would be many nights like this one.

The snow had stopped during the night and the morning arrived with overcast skies, making all of Beacon Hill glisten with a silvery sheen. Marcelline took one look out of her back window, surveying her garden and decided that it would be a good day to stay in. In spite of the fact that it was Wednesday and Mr. Adams would be expecting her at the afternoon meeting, Marcelline saw that the snow was too high and that the only way she could get to town was by sleigh. But having Ben prepare it would cause too much suspicion on the part of Colonel Tavington. Marcelline also remembered her father's advice telling her to behave. She ultimately acquiesced and grabbed her stationery, her ink and quill, and her sampler and went downstairs after bundling herself up in her woollen dress and wrap. But before she'd even set foot into the hallway, she'd scolded Anna for not being dutiful the night before. Marcelline was annoyed; she knew that Anna had been with Ben. How dare she? Marcelline felt that every male member of the staff should be pining for _her._

"Good morning, Aunt Lucy," she smiled as she entered the drawing room where some of the officers were keeping the old woman company, "I shall be in the study if you should need me."

"Certainly, my dear," the old woman said, "though you should take time out of your activities to listen to these fascinating stories that these lads tell! Simply wonderful they are!"

"Yes, Aunt." Marcelline nodded and tried to balance the things in her arms.

"Please Miss Essex," a dragoon stepped forward, "let me assist you."

"As you wish," she said and handed him the stationery and sampler, "what is your name, sir?"

"Lt. Bordon, miss." He replied, following her into the study.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Marcelline relaxed for the first time in a day, "you are very kind. Thank you for assisting me. You may set the things down on the table right here."

He did so and Marcelline sat down on the sofa, taking the sampler begrudgingly but knew it was her only cure for fatal boredom.

"Lieutentant," she said as she threaded her needle, "being that it is so cold and that the snow is so high, do you think that the privates could come into the house just until the weather warms?"

"I am not certain, miss," Bordon said uneasily, "I do not reckon the colonel would agree with that idea."

"Surely he'd not let his men freeze?"

"He is more concerned, miss, with warfare."

"Naturally." Marcelline nodded quickly and concentrated on the sampler before her, "do you think it would be wise to ask the colonel?"

"Ask me what?" Col. Tavington entered the room.

Marcelline was so surprised by the sound of his voice that she nearly pricked herself with the needle, "oh! Colonel! I've noticed the cold weather and I was wondering if possibly the men would rather stay in the house until the temperature rises..."

"They are good hardy men of His Majesty's Army," Col. Tavington's impatience with Marcelline was evident, "your idea is preposterous. They will stay outside. There is no room for them here."

There was plenty of room but Tavington would not hear of it.

"Whatever you feel is best, Colonel." Marcelline's face fell.

Bordon silently witnessed this exchange and felt pity for the girl. He wouldn't dare say a word to his superior, however, lest he'd want to spend his time outside as well. He left the room before asked to do so by Tavington. Once again, he and Marcelline were alone. Marcelline's shaking fingers moved quickly as she tried to distract herself with her sewing. Tavington nonchalantly perused the collection of books without at sound. In spite of the occasional chill sweeping in through the cracks in the window, Marcelline felt hot, as if she could feel his eyes on her.

Tavington stopped his leisurely stroll through the impressive library as he felt Marcelline's fingers stop. After a moment no sound, save for the muffled chatter of Aunt Lucy and the officers in the drawing room, Tavington exhaled with a somewhat impatient breath and left. As the door closed Marcelline let out a small whimper and held her hand to her chest, trying to steady her heartbeat. The bodice of her dress felt particularly constricting at that moment and Marcelline's breathing was shallow. She could not put her finger on why he'd conjured up these extreme feelings inside of her. Maybe it was because she felt unusually vulnerable in his presence. His reputation preceeded him and she vaguely remembered his name being tossed around Boston and his cruel actions during the Southern campaign. But it wasn't just his warfare unorthodoxy that made Marcelline claw at her stay lacings for the first time in years on that cold Februrary morning in her father's study. After loosening her stay, she rang the service bell frantically, thinking that possibly some tea would calm her.

Anna entered with a tray and put a log on the fire. Marcelline rose, took a cup and wrapped herself up in a quilt Aunt Lucy had made, staring at the popping fire. Usually a day like this would lift her spirits as it would remind her of the rare occasions where her father would be home because the bay would be frozen and no ships would be allowed to sail. When he was not busy with business matters, he'd invite her into his study and read to her. Marcelline hugged the quilt closer to her as she realized that those days had passed and would never return again. She never got the chance to be his little girl and never realized how precious those few times were until that moment. She could feel the tears building up in her eyes and sliding down her cheeks as she thought of her present situation. She seemed like a burden to her father; if she hadn't insisted on staying in Boston, then he'd be free to live a noble life in England, never having to worry about the American colonies again. Now she was being transported all the way down to South Carolina, a colony she did not like and had only been to once before. Marcelline stifled her tears and held her hand to her mouth as she sobbed. She felt so utterly alone in her own home.


	3. Rainstorm reveals things

Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay...what with school and all...this story has been 4 freakin' years in the making...and just TODAY I finally found my black notebook with the original 91 page story in it! yesss! And now, on with the shoooow.

"Good bye, Mr. Adams," Marcelline waved as she left the meeting house, "I shall see you next week."

"Good luck with those Dragoons in your house," Mr. Adams called, "inform me of any trouble!"

Marcelline chuckled and turned toward Beacon Hill to go home. The sky was overcast and there was a definite chill in the air. Soon there were raindrops covering the ground. Marcelline quickened her pace but the rain came down even more relentlessly. She'd not taken the carriage out for fear of sparking suspicion of Col. Tavington so now she was nearly drenched. As Marcelline reached into her satchel to pull out her key, the sky completely opened up. She dug into her satchel and there was no sign of her key. Marcelline didn't worry; Sullivan and Anna had to be back with the groceries for that night's dinner.

She knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

She knocked again. Possibly, she thought, Aunt Lucy could hear me?

No such luck.

Marcelline whimpered and threw her back against the door as the rain splattered against her face. She'd simply have to wait until the servants returned home. After a few moistened minutes, the Dragoons came thundering up the road.

"Well, well," Tavington didn't hide his smile, "what are you doing out in this inclement weather? You will catch your death out here."

"I have forgotten my key." Marcelline mumbled, "and no one is answering the door. The servants are out on errands."

"Well then, "Tavington said as he dismounted his horse, "we'll have to break down the door. Men!"

"No!" Marcelline cried, spreading herself across the door, "you certainly will not!"

"Do you propose another way in?"  
She faltered for a moment before running to the back of the house, only to find the garden door also locked. Marcelline ran back to the front where the Dragoons were seconds away from breaking the door down. She looked around helplessly before spying a window that was cracked open.

"Wait! Stop!" She shouted.

"Your deaf aunt be damned for not answering the door!"

"That window!" Marcelline threw herself against the door, they would be damned for damaging the house that she grew up in, the house that she cherished in the city that she adored, "it's open!"

Tavington halted his men from breaking the door down and strode over to inspect the window, which was at about his shoulder level.

"Stand aside," he said to Marcelline, giving her a quick shove.

With ease, Tavington reached up and threw the sash open, but could not get it open all of the way. After deciding that the opening was too small for any of the men to fit through, their eyes turned to Marcelline.

"You'll have to go through," Tavington explained quickly, his patience waning, "to get the front door open."

"I'm too small...I can't..."

"Stop complaining. I will hoist you up, if I must."

Before Marcelline could protest his hands were around her waist and he lifted her up to the window. She could feel the warmth from his hands on her waist and became flustered. She lost her footing as she got through the window and tumbled onto the floor. She recovered quickly and rushed to the door, letting the Dragoon officers in. Realizing her disheveled state from the rain, a wave of embarrassment overcame Marcelline and she darted up the stairs.

"I help you in and I do not even receive a thanks?" Tavington asked, "my, where are your manners, girl? If it weren't for me lifting you up, we'd still be outside."

"Anyone could've lifted me up," Marcelline said quietly as she ascended the stairs, "if it weren't for me, we would be waiting outside still for the servants to return and unlock the door."

"Still no word of thanks." Tavington huffed incredulously, "ungrateful wretch."

Marcelline spun around, disbelieving of what she was hearing. "How dare you."

"Spoiled, ungrateful little wretch." Tavington felt a surge of adrenaline as he knew he was needling her, "fussing over wet clothing. Fretting over moving from one of your extravagant houses to another. Poor dear. How ever do you manage so much _suffering_?"

"You know nothing of my life." Marcelline shook under the weight of a direct verbal attack from the colonel, "I advise you not to address me in such a fashion when you hardly know me."

"You are correct," Tavington smirked, "I do not know you. Nor do I care to know you. You are a burden to me. You will most definitely hinder me from any battles until I dispose of you in Charlestown. You are a spoiled, sheltered rich girl who does not know how lucky she is to be rich and comfortable. I suggest you count your blessings and never complain again. Especially when we are journeying together down to South Carolina. I am doing a favor for your father. He has given me a large sum of money to transport you down south. That is the only reason I am doing this."

"What am I worth, then, to him? A farthing?" Marcelline dared to sneer, "he cares not for me. He never has. He never will. He simply wants me out of Boston and the American colonies altogether because..."

Marcelline caught herself before revealing the reason her father wanted her safe in England was to silence her tongue and keep the Essex family name loyal to the crown.

"...I am a burden to him." She said, "and now I am a burden to you. I am sorry for that. I will do my best to stay out of your way and not to be of any trouble. I've done so all of my life. For years I was neglected and now I've been abandoned. I am sorry for seeming spoiled and ungrateful. I really am neither. I am just very lonely.

"I was the last of three children. I was unexpected. Unwanted. After my brother Philip, the midwife had told my mother that she could not carry any more children. Yet five years after, she was carrying me. She died in childbirth. My father always saw me as a mistake. The reason for my mother's death. I was a constant reminder. My brothers always told me I was resembled my mother completely, which was nearly unbearable for my father. I was the reason he went to England. I've been left behind."

"Am I supposed to pity you now?" Tavington asked snidely, "you didn't perish on the streets of Liverpool as I almost did. Your father didn't squander your inheritance. Your family name wasn't humiliated and defiled. You live in a vastly successful city in one of the most bountiful colonies of the British Empire. Yet your fellow colonists are trying to murder their economic success by severing ties with the very crown that had made them successful. Loyalist or not, all American colonists are impossible to comprehend."

Marcelline silently fumed with fury but settled on not saying any more words. Saying too much would give her political views away and would only cause more conflict. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door. She caught her image in her dressing mirror and was horrified. She looked afright. Her dress was sopping wet and her chestnut hair was plastered to her forehead. The top of her shift clung relentlessly to her chest. Marcelline shivered and quickly changed into a dry dress.

It was then that she realized that she could not run away to escape Col. Tavington and being sent back to England. She could not join the Continental Army disguised as man. Marcelline was being held back by her own gender. Every piece of rebellion she demonstrated was covert, subtle and quiet. Could she possibly use that in her own fight for freedom? Not emulate the actions of a man by wielding a gun or lashing out verbally, but to be level headed, polite and crafty? Could she do it?


	4. Chapter 4

1What is this? Chapter 4? guys, I need a review! a flame! a fluff! anything.

"Miss!" Anna came into the drawing room as Marcelline sat doing some needlepoint for a pillow she'd been fussing over, "a letter has arrived for you."

"Thank you, Anna." Marcelline said and opened up the letter. She recognized the seal. It was the Fletcher family. "It seems I've been invited to the Fletcher Midwinter Ball. How lovely. I shall definitely respond."

"Wonderful!" Aunt Lucy looked up from her lacework.

"You've been invited as well, Aunt."

"Oh dear," she put her hand on Marcelline's, "those parties always end too late for me. I'm getting too old for them. My quilting bees are enough for me. You go and enjoy yourself. Dance with the young men! No doubt Henrietta and John will be there?"

"I imagine they would be," Marcelline smiled. She'd been friends with Henrietta Fletcher for years. Their friendship had grown weak when they began to differ in political views, however. John Gilbert was the son of a successful shipbuilder and was also an old friend of Marcelline's. He and Henrietta were growing closer during the years and there had been talk of a betrothal.

"I also have a letter for Col. Tavington," Anna said, "do you know where he is, Miss Marcelline?"

"I do not," she replied with a sigh and returned reluctantly to her project, "you may want to check around the grounds. I believe the Legion went riding today...in civilian clothing, of course."

With that, Tavington came through the front door, with flecks of mud on his jacket, no doubt from an afternoon of riding.

"Colonel," Anna advanced toward him meekly, "a letter has arrived for you."

Tavington snatched the letter from her without a word and opened it. Marcelline tried to convince herself that the seal on his letter was not of the Fletcher family.

"Well," he said with a sly smile, "the colonies do hold onto some remnant of culture. I wonder what balls are like over here."

Marcelline's eyes widened. The Fletchers had no doubt heard about the arrival of the Legion and, brutality aside, wanted a British commanding officer at their social event."It seems as if I shall be going as well," Marcelline swallowed, "I am certain you will have a fun time. Many people of your type of character will be there."

" I could swear you had a double meaning with that comment, Miss Essex." Tavington said quietly, saving an attack for when Aunt Lucy and Anna were not present, "anyhow, I shall see if my carriage is in suitable condition to transport me to the party next week."

Tavington turned to Anna, "will you get that stableboy to bring it out to me so I can inspect it?"

"Yes, sir." Anna mumbled and ran out to get Ben.

A few minutes later, the carriage was towed out of the stable. Tavington went outside. Marcelline heaved a sigh of relief as he left her presence. yet not long after he left, there was a ruckus outside. She went to the window where Tavington was berating Ben about a broken axle on his carriage.

"You stupid boy," he seethed, "how could you have broken this axle! Your incompetence astounds and angers me. You will fix this immediately."

"But sir," Ben pleaded, "it was broken when it came from off of the ship! I did not break it."

"Lying is not healthy. Especially to me." Tavington's voice began to rise and he stepped toward him. "Tell me the truth and I will be much more lenient."

"But sir," Ben said again, his voice shaking, "I am not lying."

Marcelline ran out to the stable to intervene. She had a sinking feeling that if she did not, things would turn out badly.

"Insolent boy," Tavington pulled out his sabre. The battles were being fought miles away but he always had his sabre close at hand, "how dare you lie to me _again_--"

"Colonel," Marcelline stepped in between them hastily, "I am sure that there is some misunderstanding..."

Tavington brandished his sabre with ruthless efficiency as Marcelline held them apart. The two men began to charge each other with Marcelline in the middle. In the midst of the tumult, a stinging pain shot through her arm. She looked over at it and a large stain of blood beginning to form on the sleeve of her white muslin dress. Ben and Tavington stopped their fighting as Marcelline pressed her hand against the wound to stop the blood flow. Marcelline turned in astonishment to Tavington, whose face was wrought with split second surprise himself. It was quickly spreading and she swooned, falling to the ground, unconscious.

"Look what you did because of your insolence!" Tavington spat at Ben as the boy knelt by Marcelline.

"_My insolence_!" Ben cried as he tried to revive her, "it was your sword, Colonel!"

"I never would've had to use it if you didn't bloody lie to me."

"Nevermind that now," Ben took his kerchief from his neck and wrapped it around Marcelline's arm, "we need to get Miss Marcelline inside."

Ben lifted her into his arms and carried her into the house. Tavington stood by the stable silently as he watched them go inside.

"She never should have interfered." He muttered, skulking off to the stable to get his horse.

Marcelline's eyes fluttered open. She had to compose her thoughts for a moment to realize where she was. Her arm throbbed with a dull pain and she remembered, yet she did not remember much. Fighting, a blade, falling. What were they fighting about? She couldn't recall. Marcelline did know, however that it was Colonel Tavington who slashed her arm. She looked at the bandage and whimpered. Anna came in and was relieved to see Marcelline awake.

"Miss! How does your arm feel?"

"It hurts...that damned man." She gritted through her teeth, "I cannot believe he did that."

"You know Miss," Anna said as she handed her a cup of tea, "he is known as a butcher in the south!"

"Yes, I know." Marcelline sighed, "I feel I've become one of his many victims...and the last thing I want is to be forced to spend anymore time with him."

"I suppose the ball will take your mind off of things?"

"I suppose. The tailor received my measurements, did he not?"

"He did, Miss."

"Good, then. I cannot wait to see my new dress!"

"You'll surely be the most beautiful girl there, Miss!"

"Where is that Colonel now, Anna?"

"Out riding, I believe, Miss." Anna put the tea tray on Marcelline's night stand, "Ben told me he just disappeared after the incident earlier this afternoon."

"My goodness," Marcelline ran her hand across her forehead, "how long have I been sleeping?"

"Four hours, about, miss."

"Oh dear, I've missed dinner, haven't I?"

"Yes."

"It _is_ a rather deep cut." Marcelline touched the bandage again, "did poor Ben fix his carriage?"

"Yes, the poor lad, he did." Anna said, stoking the fire, "yet Sullivan pointed out that you might even have to take the sleigh for the ball next week, since the weather has been snowy."

"Thank you for the tea, Anna," Marcelline smiled, "you may go-"

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in?" Marcelline sat up in bed.

Tavington walked in stoically. Anna made a quick curtsey and left.

"Yes?" Marcelline did not look at him but raised an eyebrow.

"What happened today," Tavington started quickly and quietly, "was silly of you. You shouldn't have interfered in the matter at all."

"Ben is a fine stableboy." She said flatly, "he would never lie to anyone. I was simply trying to defend him. I hope you understand."

"No matter," Tavington drew a swift intake of breath, "you shouldn't have come between us. Yet-"

"Yes?"

"I...am sorry." Was the muttered reply.

"Excuse me?"

"Anyhow," Tavington was not ready to relinquish too much pride for humility in spite of being embarrassed by the whole accident, "I am going to retire now. Good night."

"Yes. Good night."


	5. Chapter 5

1

Chapter 5 – The Fletcher Ball.

Author's Note of Desperation and Disenchantment: Dudes. I need more reviews. I see hits in the hit counter and now I'm sort of obsessed with the whole concept...I see people are reading the full story...or at least the chapters...so you guys can't be stopping at one and leaving it! You go on...Is this story really that bad? What can I do to make it better? Any suggestions? Any comments? Any frickin flames?

Author's Second Note of Desperation and Disenchantment: Upon seeing a mention of the book "Beyond all Reason" in a random review of a story on the Patriot thread, I ordered it...and I feel ROBBED. Any ONE OF US could've written what J Winfield Currie has written! It's a fucking fan fiction put to actual print! Kathryn Cameron MacLean is your run of the mill, brash, obnoxious, fiery tempered Mary Sue. And she's MAKING MONEY! Why can't I be making money? Why can't you be making money! ARG. SO MANY stories on this thread are better than hers. Kathryn wears fucking pants to her wedding and by page 23, they've fucked three times already. But what's scariest of all is that...the colonel's name is _Jason_ William Tarrington. Jesus. H. Christ.

On with the show.

The sleigh was being hitched by Ben as it was indeed snowing on the night of the ball. Col. Tavington gazed at the mirror over the fireplace, adjusting the lace ruffle of his shirt. He glanced impatiently at the clock on the mantle. Marcelline was already making him late. He had no choice but to wait as they were using her sleigh.

Tavington viewed this party as a means of networking. He had foreseen making many colonial business connections with the Boston Tories, as to establish a means of extra income aside from a plantation he dreamed of. He dared to even think of making a trade connection with the Essex merchant business.

As Marcelline hurried down the stairs, trailed by Anna with her cloak and muff, she looked forward to the party. There hadn't been a ball in several months and she was excited about getting a new dress, dancing with young men and chatting with her friends, even if they were Tories. She swished the silk skirt of her dress as a means of announcing her arrival.

Tavington turned at the sound. He was just about to chide her for being tardy but could not will the words out of his mouth. It was as if there had been a stranger standing before him. He barely recognized her. Marcelline was no longer a scared little mouse but a beautiful young girl in a ravishing red silk dress who stood before him. Only when he directly looked her in the eye did she give herself away. She smiled nervously and averted his probing look..

Anna placed the cloak on her shoulders and handed her the muff. Marcelline turned to go out and then stopped, looking over her shoulder.

"Are you coming?" Her eyes gazed fleetingly at his.

"Yes," he managed and went outside and got into the sleigh with her.

Ben was waiting for them, donning his footman garb. Marcelline wrapped herself in a large fur pelt that had been on the seat. Tavington watched her intently as she got herself comfortable. Her eyes, he thought, had struck him in a most unusual way. He'd never noticed how verdant they seemed to be. He hadn't, in fact, noticed anything about Marcelline before this night. He hadn't noticed how her cheeks flushed every time she talked to him; nor how her lithe, delicate fingers brush locks of hair from her face nervously when he spoke to her.

Presently, her tiny wrists fidgeted with her muff. She truly did look stunning, sitting beside him in flawless beauty. Marcelline rubbed her hands together furiously, trying to generate some heat and shoved them into her muff. She could feel Tavington's eyes surveying her and did not like it in the least.

"How is your arm?"

"Better. Thank you." Was the clipped reply.

The sleigh moved quickly in spite of the heavy tension in the backseat. They arrived at the house and Marcelline was out of the sleigh and inside before Tavington could blink. She intended to have a very good time at this party, a time with didn't include Tavington at all, according to her plan. She was formally announced.

"Lady Marcelline Essex."

And she disappeared into the crowd.

Tavington entered and was slowly engulfed by loyalists who wanted to know, from a soldier's perspective, how the war was faring. He answered their inane questions with a cool politeness. He could do no more; he was severely socially inept on account of surprising shyness.

"Tell me about having the British Legion in your house!" Henrietta Fletcher exclaimed breathlessly, "is it exciting to look into the lives of Britain's military elite?"

"It is...not what you think." Marcelline took a sip of champagne

"That Col. Tavington," her friend indicated him across the room, "he is a handsome man, Mar!"

"He cut me with his sabre." She raised an eyebrow to quell Henrietta's enthusiasm, "he is a real monster."

"You must be exaggerating!" Henrietta hit her playfully in the arm.

Marcelline winced and brought Henrietta's hand back to the spot on her arm, to feel the bandage.

"Well," Hen felt bad, "be that as it may, he..._is_ handsome!"

"Hen!"

The girls chuckled and drank two more gulps of champagne. John Gilbert came over, leaning on his cane. He'd fought on the British side at the Battle of Brooklyn Heights and suffered a knee injury.

"John!" Marcelline cried, "and how are you?"

"Well. And yourself?" He asked, giving her a warm smile.

"Fair enough, I suppose."

The friends reminisced about old times, running through the wharves of Boston, playing hide and seek. Riding horses through the surrounding forests. Marcelline remained silent as Hen and John regaled themselves with the victorious story of Breed's Hill and how they, as John put it, "really whipped those rebels". In spite of happy memories, Marcelline felt sad. Sad that she'd broken away from her friends and their ideals. They had an idea of how she felt about the war and independence for all of the colonies but it was an undiscussed issue as a means to preserve their friendship.

Col. Tavington had meandered over and John called him to the small group. Marcelline sighed silently as he introduced Henrietta to the colonel. John made some show of military talk to seem important in front of his fiancee. Marcelline excused herself and got another glass of champagne. She'd wholly intended to avoid Col. Tavington but because of John's enthusiasm for all things military had made that impossible. She watched as Tavington asked Henrietta to dance. A biting feeling apprehended Marcelline she could've sworn was jealousy. They danced to a lively Polonaise. She trotted over to an acquaintance, Noah Winthrop, and began some quick small talk. Seeing that a minuet was about to begin, he asked her to dance.

There were two lines being formed, men on one side and women on the other. Henrietta called Marcelline to be next to her, so Tavington was diagonally facing her. Some raucous men called to John to join, as they were short one man.

"My leg!" He cried.

"Come on Johnny!" Noah called, "join us! Just for one?"

"I don't know..."

"Oh! Yes, please darling?" Henrietta pouted, "just once?"

"Only on one condition!"

"What's that?"

"If I get to dance with you!"

"Very well," Hen said, "colonel do you mind? Could you move down one spot so John could dance with me?"

"Not in the least." Tavington cracked a smile and moved, becoming Marcelline's partner."

"Why can't he just move to the end?" Noah muttered and gave up his spot across from Marcelline to dance with Rebecca, Henrietta's two left footed, awkward fourteen year old sister.

The music began.

Tavington offered his hand and Marcelline accepted it nonchalantly, a sign of the alcohol hitting her bloodstream. Her heart still pounded against her ribcage as he held her hand in his. They processed down the line together, getting very close. He could smell the rose water she'd dabbed on the back of her neck. She turned away, not choosing to look at him, but held onto his hand none the less.

The dance ended. Marcelline curtsied with a bit of trouble and Tavington bowed with a smirk.

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Essex."

She smiled, "You're very welcome, Col. Tavington."

The alcohol had definitely hit her.

As the night floated on, Marcelline won 4 card games, finally gave two dances to Noah Winthrop and drank 3 more glasses of champagne. At one o'clock, she sauntered over to Col. Tavington, whose social circle had dwindled because the party guests had gotten to know him too well. He was sitting alone, watching some few couples dancing in a circle.

"I...think we'd better go now." Her speech was slurred, "I've bid goodnight to Henrietta and John. I've also scraped Noah away from my side. Ben is waiting for us with the sleigh."

"Very well." Tavington went outside with her.

Marcelline nodded jerkily. Luckily for her reputation, no one noticed and they got into the sleigh and headed back to the Essex Estate. She had flopped into the seat, her limbs somewhat flaying about her.

"Its _so cold_." She sighed, nestling herself into her cloak and pulling the pelt on top of her, "I'm _so _cold."

"Yes," Tavington yawned, rather drunk himself, "winter tends to be cold."

"One would think," she said in a sing song voice, "that I wouldn't be cold, considering the copious amounts of alcohol I've consumed tonight."

"One would think." He stretched.

"I'm so cold." Marcelline stuck her lip out, her mouth contorting into a yawn, "so...very...cold."

She boldly picked her feet up, not without balance difficulties, and inched closer to Tavington. He was internally surprised but only raised an eyebrow. Marcelline yawned again and he noticed she had a good set of teeth. The moment he stopped paying attention to her, she laid her head on his shoulder. Tavington sighed, bemused. Like she'd repeatedly pointed out, the night was indeed cold. He could feel her shivering against him.

The sleigh pulled up to the front of the house and Ben was quite taken by surprise when he saw Marcelline so close to the Colonel.

"Miss Essex," he said firmly, "we are home."

"Wh-what?" She opened one eye, "oh! Yes..." She stumbled out of the sleigh.

She made it into the house followed by Tavington but giggled when she saw the staircase.

"What ever is the matter?" Tavington asked impatiently.

"I will never," Marcelline pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall past her shoulders, "ever, make it up that staircase alive."

Tavington rubbed his eyes, exasperated, "fine, then."

He sighed and picked her up into his arms.

"What–what are you doing?" she slurred.

Tavington ignored her as he carried her up the stairs, "You are almost enjoyable after you've been drinking, you know that?"

"So are you."

He set her down on her feet when they got outside of her room. There was a moment of silence. Tavington loomed over her and Marcelline smiled impishly.

"What are you smiling at _now_?" He asked with a tired exhale.

She leaned up against the door. She took a breath and fixed her emerald eyes on him. Tavington took that as a go-ahead and leaned into her. Their lips touched ever so slightly at first. Marcelline pulled back for a second and then kissed him with a burst of intensity. He reached around her for the doorknob. She wagged her finger at him, stepped into her room and closed the door.


	6. Chapter 6

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Chapter 6. Thanks for the reviews! Yay! I'm glad all of you like it.

Marcelline cracked one eye open. Judging from the sunbeams peaking through the drapes she could tell it was already midday. She rubbed her temples to ease the throbbing. Not quite ready to get out of bed, Marcelline recounted the events from the night before, attempting to string some sense together.

_Henrietta...John...Noah...dances, drinking, dances, cards, Col. Tavington, dances, cold, Co. Tavington._

She sat straight up in bed. As she racked her mind to fill in the blanks. What really had happened? Surely that kiss was a drunken dream! It had to be. It seemed far too surreal for it actually to have happened. Marcelline wasn't sure if she had wanted it to be real.

The bell was rung for the traditional morning-after-party brew, willow bark tea. Her head still throbbed as she furrowed her brow in thought. Anna laced her up as Marcelline groaned at the thought of the only person knowing exactly what happened the night before was Col. Tavington. She groaned again at the thought of having to _ask _him what had happened–just to be sure.

"Are you going to be sick, miss?" Anna asked.

"No. No, I am quite all right."

Marcelline dragged her feet down the stairs and bid good morning to Aunt Lucy, who was reading.

"How was the party, Mar?"

"Oh very good," she replied wearily, "much dancing."

"Oh did you dance with that Mr. Winthrop?"

"Yes."

"He is a nice young man."

"Yes, Aunt." Marcelline's headache did not allow her to be patient with her old aunt on that morning, "where is Col. Tavington?"

"In your father's study, I believe."

"Thank you."

She excused herself and was sure to close the door behind her. Tavington was a bit disheartened to see Marcelline revert to her meek nature in the sobering sunlight.

"Colonel," she began seriously, "I drank a lot of champagne last night."

"For someone of your stature, yes."

"The events of last night," Marcelline went to the window and viewed the snow dripping off of the topiaries in the garden, "are blurry to me. I...cannot remember what occured after...the party. Can you recall?"

Tavington hesitated to walk up behind her, "yes."

"Well?"

"You could not walk up the stairs," he said as she wrung her hands, listening, "so I carried you up to your room."

"I thank you for that." She shut her eyes in humiliation, but he didn't see, "I...am so embarrassed."

"No need to be." He brushed it off. He'd seen much drunker ladies at other various parties. And certainly in the brothels of Liverpool.

_Not that I'd ever equate Marcelline to a brothel whore. _

"Did...anythin– so then I went to bed?"

"No."

"No?"

Tavington grappled for the right words. He himself was a bit humiliated; she hadn't remembered their kiss at all whereas he'd relished in it. _He_ was usually the one to forget kissing a lady the night after.

_Not that I'm a dandy or anything. I did do _some_ cavorting in my time but nothing scandalous. Perish the thought._

"No," he began with guarded pensiveness, "I set you down on your feet and..."

"Yes?"

"We...kissed."

Marcelline turned around incredulously, "preposterous."

Her tone struck Tavington's ego to the core.

"Uh, no, we kissed. You leaned against your door and I kissed you."

The last three words echoed in her mind's ear.

"Oh." Was all she was able to say.

The two searched for something to say to break the awkward pause.

"Well," Marcelline's laugh was a bit shrill, "I was out of sorts–as were you. One does things after parties one usually would not do."

"Yes, yes, of course," Tavington was not going to falter in front of her.

"And then I retired?"

"Yes."

"Good." She sighed, "I mean! Um...that was all I needed to know. Thank you."

"Of course." He said, wondering where the girl in the red silk dress had gone.

Two weeks passed. Tavington and Marcelline were avoiding each other as much as possible. Meanwhile, she'd become friendlier with the other dragoons, who were more than happy about the warmer weather. Bordon had asked her to go riding with them one sunny morning. Marcelline was reluctant at first because of her average riding skills being critiqued in the face of the British Legion but Bordon convinced her.

"Where is the Colonel?" She asked, as it became a common question she posed in order to make sure their paths would not cross.

"He went out riding immediately after breakfast." Bordon replied as the riding party emerged from the stable and guided their horses across the pasture behind it. "He is out somewhere...I am not sure. Perhaps we may cross him."

"Perhaps."

Their horses cantered across the land and Marcelline breathed in the cool early spring air.

"Your gardens, miss," a young lieutenant piped up, "are truly beautiful already! I saw little sprigs of growth popping up."

"Yes," she chuckled, "you should see it in June!"

Tavington galloped up to the group on his horse. Marcelline shifted in her saddle.

"I am going to miss another June in Boston." She went on, "the flowers here are simply breathtaking!"

"They have gardens in England, too," Tavington muttered, "quite nice ones, at that."

His ego was still sorely bruised after that morning and he let her know.

"Yes," Bordon helped, sensing Marcelline's disenchantment, "they are very beautiful. I can assure you."

"I hope so." She sighed, "so there are beautiful gardens where you come from?"

"Yes, in Yorkshire, there are nice gardens," he said, "but what are really wonderful are the moors. Where does your family come from?"

"Well," she smiled at her patchwork of ethnicity, "my father's family was from the South, by Bath. My great grandmother, my aunt Lucy's mother, was from the Highlands."

"A _Scot!_" Tavington scoffed.

The dragoons exchanged tired glances. They'd grown weary of their commander's bitterness.

"My mother," Marcelline ignored Tavington as he chuckled under his breath, "was Quebecoise. She and my father met when he was buying fur pelts in Quebec City. Her name was Marie Robichaud."

"_Quebecoise and a Scot!_" Tavington said mockingly with a raise of his eyebrow, "my goodness...are you Irish too? Are you a Papist as well?"

"I am not Irish." She stated with an edge to her tone, "nor am I Catholic. I am an Anglican."

"Good, then," he responded, matching his tone to hers.

The group was dispersing as the tension mounted between Tavington and Marcelline. She cursed them for moving away and thus, her comfort barrier disintegrating between Tavington and her. She thought about slapping her reins and galloping away back to the house, where she would be safe. But Marcelline decided not to move away otherwise, he would win."Well well, Miss Essex," he said softly, menacingly, "I'm going up back to the stables. I hope you do not _forget_ your way home."

She was silent. Her forgetting the kiss was not her fault.

"You know," he continued, relishing in his words as he watched her squirm, "that horse could get spooked at any moment, making you fall on your head, forgetting your memory completely!"

"Maybe then," she looked straight ahead of her, taking in the grove of evergreens at the edge of the pasture, "I would forget how much I am going to miss Boston."

"You'll forget soon enough," Tavington stated flatly, "when you return to England."

"Not _return_, Colonel," she corrected him quietly yet with a firm resolve, "I've never been to England."

"Oh yes...I..._forgot_."

"I am just as unhappy as you are," Marcelline spat, "about being in this situation. I am certain that you would rather be down south, seeing action... not up here milling about day in and day out. But as you said, you garnered a handsome fee for transporting me. At least, during this time, would_ could_ be civil to each other."

"I thought I _was_ being civil."

Marcelline shook her head, deeming it was a lost cause and changed the subject: "When do you propose we leave?"

"In a fortnight."

"That soon?"

"That soon."

"Will we be taking the entire journey by sea?"

"No," Tavington grumbled at the thought of a ship, "we go by land until we get to Philadelphia. A schooner will be waiting for us there to bring us to Charles Town. Hopefully by then, Cornwallis will have taken it."

"How long with this journey take?"

"A week and a half–only if we make good time and have a strict schedule."

"I do not understand," Marcelline said half to herself, "why my father just didn't instruct me to go to England with Aunt Lucy."

"He didn't trust you," Tavington interjected rudely.

"That shows how much he knows me," she said with sad incredulity, "I never would have run. I have no where to go. I assume he is already planning a betrothal."

"He is," Tavington answered another question she hadn't asked, "he has a few gentlemen in mind."

Marcelline exhaled tiredly. She could feel the tears in her eyes, blurring the evergreens in her sight. She fought them with all of her strength she could muster. Crying in front of this man would give him too much satisfaction. Yet try as she might, a tear escaped, lingering on her eyelash before sliding down her cheek. She hastily brushed it away just as Tavington noticed it.

"No need to get _hysterical_." He huffed.

Marcelline cried out and let the tears flow freely. _Damn his satisfaction._

"For goodness' sake!" He exclaimed, annoyed. She tried to control herself but it just made her sobs worse. Tavington started to feel uncomfortable.

"You know," he said, handing her his handkerchief furtively, "you would look much prettier if your eyes were your eyes not watery and your face red."

Marcelline dabbed her eyes and her tears stopped abruptly as her heart jumped into her throat. She could've sworn that he'd almost gave her a compliment. She handed back the handkerchief.

"Thank you. I would better be going now."

She prodded her horse and galloped off.

Marcelline arose very early on the party's departure day and went into town. She had to go to the bank and liquidate her private assets that she had gained during trading since the start of the war. She figured she would need this money if worse came to worse. She also bid farewell to both Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock. They wished her luck with the dragoons and her new life in England and promised to write.

She stood alone on a small pier and looked out into the harbor. It was a gloomy day and a light drizzle was tumbling out of the sky. Marcelline wrapped her mantle closer to her chest as she surveyed the early morning bustle of the wharf. Her city never looked more beautiful.

So much had happened in her city and she was a witness. A silent witness to the protests, the battles, the unrest. The tumultuous events had alienated her father and brothers from her, they had helped forge her friendships with various patriots in the town, and they'd brought Col Tavington into her house.

The clock chimed nine. A band of sunlight pierced through the cloud cover. Marcelline pursed her lips and made her way back to her house for the last time.

"Where _were_ you?" Col. Tavington appeared in the doorway, putting on his gloves as she came up to the front door, "we have been waiting. All of your belongings are in the wagon. Your horse is hitched to the back of it. Now get into the carriage!"

"Let me say good bye to my aunt," Marcelline slipped past him, "and let me get Anna. Then we can be on our–"

"Anna will not be coming," he said, going down the steps in swift, strong strides, "it would be just another person weighing us down. You can get another lady's maid when we get to Charles Town. Well don't just _stand_ there, make haste!"

She crept into the drawing room and saw her aunt, sitting at the window, like every morning, doing some needlepoint.

"Aunt Lucy," she whispered in a small, somber voice, "I am leaving."

Lucy stood and advanced toward her grand niece slowly.

"You must be careful," she said and patted her cheek, then brought her into her arms, "please write to me. I shall be leaving for England next week. Dress warmly, mm?"

"Yes, Aunt," Marcelline's voice trembled, "Thank you for all that you have done. I love you and I'll miss you."

"And I you!" Aunt Lucy whispered and patted Marcelline's head, which was high above her minuscule frame.

Time seemed to freeze as reality seemed to overwhelm the room. Marcelline clung to her aunt for a few more moments before finally stepping away and leaving the room, but then turned around as an afterthought:

"The servants are coming with you?"

"Yes, they are."

"All right then. Good bye, Aunt Lucy."

"Good bye, dearest Mar."

Marcelline closed her eyes and turned out. Tavington was waiting for her in the carriage. She buried herself in the mantle she wore and was certain to hide her face in her hood. The carriage started with a jolt and Marcelline pulled herself into the corner of the cab, looking away from the window as not to see Boston vanish before her eyes.

A/N Thanks for the reviews! YAY! I did try the name "Patience" but I decided against it since Marcelline's family is not Puritan..and like I say in my profile, I just couldn't get away from Marcelline as a name...


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After a nearly 7 month hiatus, I'm back in action. Reviews are _always_ welcome.

The caravan crawled through the New England wilderness. The weather had become a little bit milder during the day but still remained quite cold at night. The group did not stop for rest during the evening, as instructed by Col Tavington. Marcelline remained completely silent for the first few days of the journey. The pain of leaving Boston was not alleviated by time.

"You're quite impertinent," Col. Tavington broke the hours of silence between them, "and you can't sulk forever."

Marcelline turned her head and looked into his eyes with a steady glare. He glared back with growing impatience. All she could do in response was exhale loudly, making a puff of visible breath.

"Charles Town cannot come soon enough," Tavington muttered bitterly.

"I feel the same way as you, Colonel." She brushed his presence off like an unwanted flea.

The truth was that Tavington reddened at the thought as he'd never been in such a situation like this with any woman before. He'd never been denied, or, his money had never been denied as he just was. He'd also never been in any type of relationship with a woman for whom he had cared. Then the thought hit him: could he actually _care_ for Marcelline? The idea could've seemed ridiculous only a week before yet after that kiss, he'd seen her in an entirely different light for that one moment. It was a moment that he longed for to return. She was not just a vapid young hostess. She was not just a mindless colonial. She was not just a plain girl with no name. Yet she, on the other hand, was an ordinary noble woman living in Boston. He longed to kiss her again but his pride and shyness would never allow him to try again.

Marcelline turned and looked out the window as Connecticut rolled by. She did not appreciate the way Tavington had merely stopped and was apparently caught deep in thought as he studied her. She'd grown to almost ignore the feeling of his eyes upon her but in such close quarters as a carriage cab, it was impossible.

The group journeyed on into New York and New Jersey. Only a day away from Philadelphia and the aquatic leg of their trip, Lt Bordon spoke up meekly:

"Colonel, sir," he started, poking his head through the window of the cab, "evening is upon us. We've never stopped for the night on this whole journey. The legion is very tired. Please, I implore you-"

"Lieutenant!" Tavington shouted, "we have a schedule to keep!"

"Yes, please, Colonel," Marcelline chimed in, "I am exhausted."

She coyly covered her mouth and let out a little yawn and a sigh. She then made her green eyes spark at his fleetingly. He cursed under his breath as he could not resist the lure of them.

"We shall stop for the night at the next inn." He muttered.

The inn was not far from the coach trail in Morristown, New Jersey. It had been the stronghold of Washington's troops a few years before. There were still many Continental soldiers in the town and the dragoons were sure to dress in civilian clothing before entering it. The town was bustling with activity which indicated that a room at the only inn would be a hot commodity. The activity was mostly due to a large number of Continental soldiers en route to the Southern colonies.

Colonel Tavington made the carriage stop at the front door and he went inside to get a room. Marcelline followed him after a few minutes, planning on getting a room of her own.

"You're in luck, sir," the innkeeper said as Marcelline entered the inn, "we have one room vacant!"

The innkeeper then noticed Marcelline, "I'm sorry miss, but we are full."

Marcelline's face fell. Tavington turned to her, saying, "No room at the inn. You'll have to go to the stable then—with the others, of course."

The wind whistled through the crack in the door; the night was going to be very cold. The dragoons, unfortunately, were used to it. Marcelline was not. She resigned herself to spending the night with her bear pelt in the cab. She pulled her cloak closer to her and turned to go out.

"Miss Essex," Tavington sighed, "we can come to a compromise. It is nearing suppertime. Come to the dining room and have something to eat."

Marcelline froze right before her hand touched the doorknob. She did not understand his motive for the sudden kindness. It certainly wasn't that he was taking pity on her. Yet she was very hungry and did accept the offer.

The sat down right by a group of young Continentals. Tavington felt a twang of jealousy seize him as he noticed the group of men surveying Marcelline.

The meal was simple yet satisfying. The two spoke very little to each other, creating an awkward atmosphere. Marcelline clumsily dropped her napkin on the floor. She knelt down to get it but noticed another hand reaching as well. The hand belonged to a handsome young private in the Continental Army. He had a smiling face and sparkling eyes. Marcelline could not help but return the grin. He handed the napkin to her.

"I believe this belongs to you, milady," he whispered, as he'd been observing the tenseness between Tavington and Marcelline.

"Thank you." She smiled broadly and returned to face Tavington who was eating, unaware of the exchange that had gone on underneath him.

He did notice, however, the changed look on Marcelline's face. She was glowing. After days of a sickly pallor due to homesickness, her color had returned quickly. He could not find the reason why. They finished their dinner much like they had begun it: in silence. The soldiers left and the young Continental stole a quick glance at Marcelline before leaving.

"Now if you will excuse me," she said flatly as she put on her cloak, "I must be getting back to the cab—to go to sleep."

"Miss Essex—" Tavington stopped her, "it is so very cold out tonight. Why don't you sleep in my room tonight?"

"You'd give up your room?" She asked incredulously.

"Yes, I suppose so," he said, thinking of the alternative to _not_ giving up the room with Marcelline still sleeping in it. "But my things are already up there. I will retrieve them and you can retire."

He even had a dragoon bring some of Marcelline's necessities to the room for her convenience. She was wondering why he was being so kindly.

The sky was already housing many stars as Tavington directed the dragoon to take his belongings and put them in the stable with the horses for the night. The dragoon left with the trunks.

"Thank you." Marcelline could only whisper. "This night's sleep will do me good."

"Of course." Tavington said as he watched her unpack some of her toiletries, knowing full well it was socially uncouth and rude. He could not seem to take his eyes off of her as she busied around the room. She seemed to glide in her dress; her cheeks were pink from the cold. She thought of that soldier at dinner. He made her heart race in a perfect way. Marcelline also realized that Tavington made her heart race as well. She stopped and turned to him. She let out a small cry as he advanced toward her, taking her into his vicing embrace. Marcelline was consumed by his kiss and gave in to his strength he seemed to exude. She nearly fell limp in his arms as he kissed her. Tavington relished in the control he had over her. He could tell that she'd never been kissed like that before and he enjoyed every moment of being the first.

He wondered how far he could take Marcelline that night.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Omg! An update so soon? Yeah yeah, I know. I live for reviews, guys. The stat counter is making me crazy. I know you're reading but not reviewing! Help me out here!

Marcelline seemed to melt into his arms as Tavington kissed her. A little voice inside of her head told her to continue but reason stopped her.

"No," she managed to say as he moved down to kiss her neck, "no. I cannot."

Tavington stopped, shocked. How could he have been so wrong as to try again? She was merely leading him on, playing a teasing game at his expense. He certainly would not have it. Tavington held her at arms' length and looking into her eyes silent, scathing appraisal. Of course she would be prudish. Most rich girls, especially in New England (whether Puritan or not) were raised to be such. How could he expect so much of her? There was, however, a slight urge to continue on his part, to draw out the seduction as long as possible. Could he convince her that Ft. Carolina would be a safer haven than Middleton Place? This cat and mouse game was too delicious to give up so quickly. His pride told him she'd be in his bed soon enough.

"Very well, then," he said curtly. "We wouldn't want to spoil your virtue, now would we, Miss Essex? That would be so scandalous."

"If it ever leaked out into respectable society," Marcelline had to keep her smile from growing too large at her sudden realization, "it would really be a trial for you, would it not?"

It was true. Marcelline was proving to be a different kind of liability than Tavington had originally predicted. He was also still getting used to being repeatedly rejected by the same woman. It was infuriating to him. He steadied his hand so as not to slap her across the face. Tavington had thought he had planned everything perfectly through letter correspondence with Lord Essex. Marcelline was to be his beautiful trophy wife with amazing social connections and a lot of assets in the American Colonies. What was the harm, he'd reasoned, if he just tasted a little bit of the perks of his future wife? Lord Essex thought everything was working out perfectly as well. No one had written to him in a long time and he had been none the wiser.

"I suppose in a different situation you would be right," Tavington said bitingly, "but since we are going to be married I think it wouldn't be all that scandalous. But you're quite right; we need to save ourselves for our _bridal bed_."

"Are you mad?" Marcelline cried, "married?"

"Your father and I planned it out," he said, "before I even came to the colonies, I was introduced to him at some party or another. We started talking, he knew of my ambitions in the military. He thought I'd make a good match for you. Your father wanted to marry you off so he wouldn't have to worry over you."

"I'm sure," she hissed with intensity, "you didn't tell my father that you're money hungry since your father bet the family fortune?"

Tavington did not flinch as he expected that jab. He'd grown to expect a lot of jabs at his expense in his life. She continued to needle him about his past life but he had had enough and, knowing he would not get what he wanted that night, left her alone in the room.

The next morning, Tavington was more furious than usual. The temperamental carriage axel had become loose again which meant that they would be delayed getting out of Morristown. He sent Bordon up to Marcelline's room to wake her.

"What type of mood is he in today?" She grumbled as she followed Bordon down to the dining room to get breakfast.

"Not an agreeable one at all." Bordon sighed tiredly, "and there has been a slight change of plans. In order to make up for time lost today, we will not be stopping at Middleton Place. Once we get to Charles Town, we will be heading straight for Ft Carolina. The Colonel thought it best."

"Lovely!" She groaned but stopped short after she locked eyes with the young soldier from the day before. Marcelline smiled to herself and took a seat by the window where she saw Col. Tavington outside, yelling at a blacksmith.

Seeing that the girl was alone, the soldier approached her with hesitative eagerness.

"Good morning." He said sheepishly.

"Good morning, sir," Marcelline smiled, seeing him turn red.

"It is a shame that your travel companion," he said, "is too busy to eat breakfast right now."

"Yes, it is." Marcelline giggled a little, watching Tavington lose his temper completely.

"Where are you going, if I may ask?"

"To Philadelphia, then to Ft. Carolina," she relished in the fact that she was telling an American soldier exactly where the most brutal and powerful contingent of the British Army was going. "He is not just my travel companion. He is the leader of the British Legion—the Green Dragoons."

"I have heard of them!" The soldier exclaimed, "why are you traveling with them?"

"Father's orders." She sighed and sipped some tea, "what is your name, young soldier?"

"Gabriel Martin." He replied, "may I sit with you for a while? I will keep away the riff raff. Lord knows this place is rather spotty."

"Certainly."

"And what is your name, pretty miss?"

"Marcelline Essex."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He smiled his broad, kind smile, "so you're under your father's orders to travel with the British Legion. But from what I can tell, you do not seem pleased about it."

"You are correct," she nodded, "my father and I differ greatly on the issue of independence. He and my two brothers live in England. I refused to leave my homeland. I believe the colonies should create their own unified country. We have been buried by the very country that was sworn to protect us. If the government is unjust, then man has every right to rectify it."

"A reader of Thomas Hobbes, I see."

"Yes," Marcelline blushed and lowered her head, "even if only _man_ has every right to rectify it, I still am eager to know how they are doing it."

"It _is_ crucial that the colonies succeed," Gabriel sighed, "but we have just had a very bad winter. The Continental Army is not doing very well. If we don't turn the tide somehow, we will definitely lose this war and be under the yoke of the British Empire forever."

Marcelline could not help but smile; she liked this young soldier very much. She liked his passion and appreciated his dedication.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Martin."

"Well," he grinned at that title, "I am one of 7 children. My mother has passed and my father has a plantation on the Santee in South Carolina. He is also somewhat of an amateur inventor. My father and I differ in beliefs as well. He was not at all pleased that I joined the Continentals. I'm not sure if it was worth the bother, though. I do believe in the cause but it has been a struggle."

"You seem like a man of strong character and good will," Marcelline said, "I believe that you could be a great leader in this war. You could rally everyone with your call. I cannot do anything because of my sex. I depend on brave, ambitious men like you to make my hopes come to fruition. Please, Mr. Martin."

Gabriel was greatly inspired by her words.

"It would be a great help to me," he said before he could even stop himself, "if I could take you with me and you could be a perpetual source of encouragement!"

Marcelline was speechless with embarrassment. She quickly snapped out of it when Tavington stormed into the room.

"Miss Essex," he announced, "we are leaving. I suggest you get into the carriage at once so we can get to Philadelphia as quickly as possible."

Tavington noticed Gabriel sitting with her.

"Who's……this?" His distaste was evident at the uniform Gabriel wore.

"Great company," she replied and stood (Gabriel rose with her), "for a change."

She threw a few coins onto the table and walked out. Tavington rolled his eyes and followed her. Gabriel watched through the window as she climbed into the carriage followed by her travel escort. He then made a connection: that man was the leader of the Green Dragoons. Marcelline had said they were headed back to Charles Town. It was the end of February. There was rumor and worry that Cornwallis was planning to take the city. Tavington and his Green Dragoons were headed back to help him. The South was now in great peril.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I thank everyone for the reviews….once this first draft is all done, I'll be working on revisions! Stay tuned for that….

They arrived in Philadelphia later that evening. A light rain had begun to fall and Marcelline and Tavington were no longer even looking at each other. They boarded the ship in silence with only the sound of the wind coming off the river around them. The ship's chief officer greeted them once they were on board. Marcelline gave a quick curtsey and pulled her cloak closer to her to fend off the stiff winds.

"Good evening, Miss Essex," the Captain bowed, "welcome aboard the _Invincible_. I am Officer Pellew, the chief officer of this vessel. I can assure you your journey will be as comfortable as conditions allow. We will be sailing out at first light tomorrow morning. I invite you to dine with me in my quarters for supper tonight. Here, Midshipman Connors will show you to your quarters."

Marcelline thanked him and followed the sailor down below decks. She unpacked a few of her personal items and refreshed herself for the meal. Her "quarters" was the tiniest room she'd ever seen. She was luck enough to have a bed instead of a hammock and even an oil lamp that hung from the low ceiling. She grumbled and hoped Ft. Carolina would be a better lodging.

She joined Second Leftenant Pellew and Capt. Rhys for dinner along with Col. Tavington. They were amiable men who had seen many years at sea in spite of their youthful years. Capt Rhys was a kind yet firm man with a rotund stature. He wasn't sure he wanted a woman on board in such precarious times but didn't say a word about the subject, being that he'd just picked up a large sum of money given to him by Marcelline's father earlier that day. Leftenant Pellew was polite and made good conversation. Marcelline was struck by his exceedingly handsome features and found that she was gazing at him as he talked of battles while he sipped his wine. Pellew took no heed of her but Col. Tavington noticed and made a slight roll of his eyes.

After days after their embarkation from Philadelphia, Marcelline was taking in some fresh sea air on the deck in the early afternoon sunshine. The dragoons were happy to be on their way back to action and were in almost good spirits. The sailors grumbled at them and the smell of their horses. They grumbled even louder when Marcelline passed; it was horrible luck to have a woman on board.

Col Tavington appeared on deck. His skin was a sickly pallor and he looked exhausted. Marcelline raised an eyebrow and tried not to smirk. Apparently, the colonel was prone to seasickness. She kept her distance.

"This blasted ship," he murmured, half to himself, "I hate sea travel."

"Sir," Bordon approached him, "you might as well stay up here for fresh air. You'll feel a world better—"

"Oh would you keep quiet!" He shouted and put his hands on the rail. "Leave me."

"Yes, sir."

Marcelline watched the exchange, somewhat surprised. She was almost startled as she observed Col. Tavington doubled over in agony, trying to get fresh air before going back down below decks where the rocking of the ship was not as severe. With a deep intake of breath, and the corresponding exhale, he returned back inside to attempt to take a nap. Marcelline didn't know whether to laugh or to feel sorry for him. Against her better judgment, she felt the latter. She wrestled with the idea of possibly bringing some food to him and ultimately sent a midshipman to give him some simple cabbage soup and a biscuit.

"What's this?" Tavington asked as the midshipman entered his tiny room, "I didn't ask for anything."

"The lady said," the boy stammered, "that she thought it best that you have something to eat."

"The lady? Is that so?" He asked bitterly and scoffed at the food, "well, you can leave it here but I can't promise I'll eat it. And…tell her that I thank her."

"Aye, aye, sir." The boy said and went out.

Tavington looked at the food longingly and had a few spoonfuls of the soup. He had to admit that he did feel better, albeit only a little.

"The colonel accepted it, Miss." The midshipman informed Marcelline a few minutes later, "he looked awful pale and disagreeable but accepted it nonetheless."

The sea journey, in spite of Col Tavington's sickness, was a smooth one. No sea skirmishes came up. No storms threatened the voyage. The lull of the waves was the only sound that could be heard until they came upon the South Carolina coast by Charles Town. There, the cannons roared, sending balls from the ships to the besieged city. General Lord Cornwallis took the city just as the _Invincible_ was sailing into the port. The Dragoons and Marcelline disembarked and they sent her to Ft Carolina ahead of them while Tavington stayed with Cornwallis in the city.

The weather was growing increasingly warmer, the tension in the air increasingly high. The coming months of 1780 would be a long, tumultuous time.


	10. Chapter 10

Another chapter, dear readers! Chapter 10 is here!

Charleston had fallen to the British only a week before. Marcelline was settling in at Fort Carolina begrudgingly. She assured herself that Middleton Place, her original destination, was by far nicer quarters even though she'd never been there. Still, she hid her sulkiness as Cornwallis and his men returned to the fort along with the British Legion. Cornwallis was rather indifferent to her and kept his relationship with her to a polite comment and a hollow smile here and there. Marcelline did not mind; she was happy to steal away during stifling southern afternoons and go riding about the surrounding land. Even though she was assigned a chaperone at Tavington's request, Marcelline loved to speed over the South Carolina hills. Bordon, who was usually her chaperone when Marcelline chose to ride, even politely indulged her with races. He secretly felt sorry for her lot and did what he could to cheer her up when Tavington upset her.

Marcelline saw him after breakfast one bright morning by the stables.

"So Lt. Bordon," she said as she tied her sun hat to her head, "are we going riding today?"

"I am afraid not, Miss Essex," he replied as he readied his horse, "the colonel has ordered us to survey the surrounding countryside. We will be riding all day. I am sorry."

"It is quite all right," Marcelline said, "I suppose I'll just ride by myself today."

"Are you sure that is wise? What with the colonel and all--"

"Please," she got quieter so as not to be heard by other dragoons who were beginning to come into the area to prepare for the day as well," don't tell him. Riding here is my only escape. I don't want it taken away from me."

"Very well, then."

"Thank you." She sighed as she heard Col. Tavington's voice getting louder. "I suppose I should make myself scarce."

Marcelline was too late. Tavington had entered the stable and spotted her. It had been just over a week since they had any contact and he was secretly wondering when he'd get to see her again.

"Miss Essex." He said coolly. She turned.

A certain sense of release washed over him as her eyes met his for a fleeting moment. He realized that he had missed her more than he would actually ever admit to. She stood there in simple silence: her hat shielding her face from the relentless sun, her left hand furtively clenching the folds of her skirt as errant wisps of hair blowing in the weak breeze.

"Yes, Colonel?" She asked, puzzled when he did not respond immediately.

For a second Tavington realized he'd been staring but played it off without a scrap of embarrassment showing through.

"How does this day find you?"

"Very well, thank you."

"It is a pity that you cannot ride today since your chaperone will be indisposed."

"Yes."

"Did the General tell you of the dinner tonight?"

"Yes, I am aware of it."

"It will be a small affair, of course," the Colonel continued, making inane conversation which made Marcelline nervous and suspicious, "I do look forward to it."

"Yes." She cleared her throat, "good day, Colonel."

She curtseyed curtly and turned, returning to the house to stay out of sight until the Legion left.

Not too long after Marcelline had gone into the house, the Dragoons raced out of the stables and into the surrounding wilderness. Marcelline wondered just exactly what they would be doing. She then thought of Gabriel. How she longed to have a letter from him, how she longed to be able to write him. She took out her frustrations by scurrying down to the stable, mounting a horse and racing off, much like the Dragoons did moments before her.

Marcelline had become familiar with the surrounding area and much enjoyed the serene quietude the forest offered. Here, she did not worry about her future. She did not worry about the future of the colonies. She did not worry about what was running through Tavington's mind as he looked at her with eyes that seemed to undress. She did not worry about anything.

On this particular afternoon, Marcelline came across a rushing stream. A stream, she deduced, that must have been a tributary of the Santee. The quiet of the forest calmed her senses and she listened, hypnotized by the rushing of the stream. The water looked clear, cool and deep. Without a second thought, she removed her stockings and shoes and dipped her toe into the stream. She squealed softly at the coldness of the water and absently removed her hat, along with her dress and stay. Marcelline hadn't taken a swim in a stream since she was a little girl and with abandon, slipped into the water in her shift. She gasped at the temperature, delighted. The weather had been stiflingly hot and downright miserable. This was a nice relief.

Time flew by but Marcelline did not notice the sun moving across the sky. She sang the songs of her youth happily and splashed the water on her face and shoulders. Marcelline ran her fingers atop her hair and pulled the ivory hairpins from it. She dipped her head back and let the cool water engulf her entire body. Deafened by her own song, by the accompanying birds and by the stream, Marcelline did not hear hoofbeats approaching. She did not stop singing and splashing. She relished the clear water as it sped past her and the smooth feel of stones underfoot. The noise of the hoofbeats could not be heard by her ears but the motion of them could be felt. Her heart jumped; she knew exactly who it was but far off in the trees, she could see them fastly approaching. There was absolutely no time to dress and there was no way that she'd let the British Legion see her in this state of undress.

Marcelline leapt out of the water and hid herself in a thicket behind a boulder. She stifled her whimpers as the thorns stuck her skin.

"What is this horse doing here?" Tavington asked angrily, "this is obviously from the Ft. Carolina stable! Who could be so careless as to leave it unattended? Check the area to see if the absent minded owner is around to speak for himself."

The dragoons did so and Bordon, recognizing the horse, combed the area carefully. From the corner of his eye, he saw the material of what he remembered was Marcelline's sun dress. Checking to see that he was rather far from the rest of the Legion, including Tavington, he quietly advanced to the boulder and peeked behind it. He gasped to see Marcelline sopping wet in her shift. Her eyes pleaded with him. He immediately looked away and whispered an apology.

"Find anything, Bordon?" Tavington called.

Bordon stepped in front of the telling piece of dress.

"No, sir. Nothing." He called, "perhaps the rider just...went for a walk...I am certain sh--he'll be back soon."

"Never the less," Tavington sighed angrily, "we need to take the horse back. We cannot give up a horse to the rebels."

The Dragoons left with Marcelline's horse and went back to Ft Carolina. The sun was even lower now and she hastily dressed and hurried back to the house to prepare for dinner.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11!

Enjoy!

Marcelline hurried back to the fort but it seemed that her journey was much more arduous without the aid of a horse. The mid afternoon sun beat down on her back mercilessly. She hadn't a proper meal all day and was feeling a bit light headed. Her wet shift clung to her body and she'd tied her stay too tightly. Marcelline heaved breaths at every step.

In the distance, she could see a rider on horseback coming toward her. Her vision was blurred and she could not make out who it was. She stopped and wavered in the scorching heat.

It was Tavington. He'd returned, sensing that the found horse's rider was Marcelline. Only one person could so carelessly leave their animal unattended. That person had to be a woman. That woman had to be Marcelline. He was indeed correct. Marcelline stood in the meadow listlessly, watching him approach. Tavington could barely wait to reprimand her about proper horsemanship.

"Miss Essex," he said with a cool air about him regardless of the enshrouding heat, "I must remind you that each horse in that stable is property of the Crown and that--"

Before he could finish his sentence, Marcelline had swooned, causing him to change subjects.

"Well Miss Essex," he uncertainly cleared his throat, "are you unwell? Would you...care to ride back to the fort?"

Marcelline had no intention of accepting his offer and without a word moved past him. But before she could take more than three steps, the heat overcame her and she collapsed in the grass.

Allowing himself to feel a modicum of alarm when he saw her, Tavington composed himself and knelt before her. He'd always particularly liked when he unexpectedly found others in times of weakness; it was when he could exhibit the most power. He felt differently when he saw Marcelline laying prostrate on the ground. He found that he'd taken his canteen from his saddle bag and had taken her hand. He tapped on it lightly:

"Miss-Miss Essex," he began hesitantly.

She made no response. He started to feel uneasy so he brought Marcelline's head to rest on his knees. Tavington sprinkled some water on her forehead after removing her sun bonnet. She stirred and he propped her up against his chest, holding the canteen to her lips. She drank in tiny, feeble sips.

"You should have never ventured out," he said, attempting to regain some propriety, "do you think you can sit up and ride my horse?"

"I...I don't know."

Tavington helped Marcelline up slowly with an awkward slowness. Her legs were far too fatigued to support her and they failed her. Tavington caught her before she fell. Marcelline avoided his eyes:

"I...I don't think I've the strength."

Tavington recalled the night he had to carry her up to her bedroom on the night of the Boston party. Without a work, he lifted Marcelline into his arms and started for the fort. His horse followed.

"Thank you," Marcelline managed to whisper as he carried her back, "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't ridden up to see me."

Tavington's response was only a grunt as he kept his gaze toward the fort. Fortunately for him, there was very little activity at the fort and only a few enlisted men noticed Marcelline in his arms. He carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed in her chamber.

"I'll get the maid to bring you some water," he said quickly and was gone.

Marcelline half hoped Tavington would return himself but he did not. She told her maid to relay the message to Lord Cornwallis that she'd not be attending the dinner. While at the meal, Tavington had half hoped Marcelline would appear.

The evening began to wind down and by midnight the guests had gone home. Marcelline felt much better after having a small supper in her room yet the heat did not relent. It was unforgivingly hot in her room and she decided to get some fresh air. Marcelline carefully crept down the stairs and outside to look at the night sky. Tavington, who was lounging in thought in the map room by himself, heard the front door hinge creak. With his hand on his sabre, he ran into the hall, seeing the door ajar. He brandished his sabre and looked outside.

"One encounter with your sword is enough, I'd imagine," Marcelline said quietly.

She was sitting on the front steps of the house, surveying the stars. Tavington started to speak but silenced himself.

"May I take a seat?" He asked.

"You may."

He sat.

"I thank you again," Marcelline said hastily after a long period of silence, "I would have been much worse off if you hadn't arrived to bring me back to the fort. No one had known where I was."

"Ah, well, yes..."

"I must admit," Marcelline looked away, laughing a little, "that I was wrong about you. You can't be all bad, can you? You must have some tenderness in you--you saved me."

Tavington was silent. He did not know what to say.

"I am sorry for judging you so swiftly. Forgive me."

"You are...forgiven."

If she'd only known Tavington had burned Clearwater Plantation, killed an innocent boy and had attempted to hang Gabriel on that very same day.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

In case anyone is still reading this half awful, half guilty pleasure story of mine...

The summer plodded on with day after day of sweltering heat. Skirmishes erupted across the South Carolina countryside as Lord Cornwallis attempted to push into North Carolina. It was gravely important that he acheive his goal. Yet Continental forces kept him at bay. Tavington was increasingly sidetracked by the cumbersome "Ghost" which haunted the South Carolina swamps and the avenging force this ghost had become. He grew angry and frustrated at the unorthodox games which he was forced to play in order to get closer to uncovering the Ghost's identity. True, his fashion of warfare was unorthodox to say the least but he prided himself on being straightforward, at least.

Weakness still lingered in Marcelline after her fainting spell in the pasture the week before. She longed to go out into the forest and meet with Gabriel. She racked her brain as to how she could see him again, how she could get to his family's plantation. After sneaking a look at the maps in the Map Room, she knew it was very close. What she did not know, however, was that it was an abandonded burned out shell with a newly dug grave harboring the body of Thomas Martin.

There was some tumult at the fort gate and Marcelline went to her open window and looked down at the activity. Some British officers had captured some men from the local militia and the dragoons were putting the prisoners into a makeshift jail, constructed from sticks of wood. Local men! Surely they'd know Gabriel!

Tavington was in a meeting with Cornwallis. Marcelline, within a flash, was down the stairs and creeping past the Map Room where a heating conversation had already begun between the General and the Colonel. She went out into the courtyard, as if to go to the stables, all the while checking to see if any soldiers were watchful. They were not. Any soldiers who were out that day in the courtyard were sluggish and tired from the heat and were surveying the surrounding landscape--not looking out for any suspicious activity inside the fort. Marcelline crept over to the haggard men in captivity.

"My name is Marcelline Essex," she began with abrupt timidity, "I am a patriot like you. I can tell from your dress that you are apart of the local militia. I was wondering if you knew of a man Gabriel Martin."

The men looked at her silently for a moment and the a man, dressed plainly, began to speak:

"Miss Essex," he said carefully and quietly, "why do you need to know of Gabriel's whereabouts? How do we know, while living here in this fort, you aren't a spy for the British?"

"You'll just have to take my word for it," she said ruefully, "I have no proof that I am not a spy but I can tell you that I met Mr. Martin up in Morristown when he was serving with General Washington. I am on your side. I am a patriot forced to live with Lord Cornwallis until I am brought to England, never to return to America. I am willing to find and relay any information that would help you in your cause. If you would just tell me what has become of Gabriel Martin."

"He…is well." The man said, removing his wide brimmed hat, a sure sign that he was a man of God, "we are currently apart of the militia his father, Benjamin, has set up near the Old Spanish Mission in the swamp, not too far from here. We were captured this morning during an ambush. Gabriel is with his father still, I believe."

"He is all right?" Marcelline cried happily, "Thank God! Thank God! I will do everything in my power to release you. Whether it be an appeal to Cornwallis or if I need to steal the keys to this shoddy jail. I will set you free. Can you give me directions to the swamp from here?"

"Oh no Miss Essex," the minister said, "it is far too dangerous to make that journey. I am sure Benjamin knows that we are already here. He, I hope, is devising a plan to reclaim us."

Marcelline looked at the men. They were bewildered, beleaguered by their capture. She nodded, feigning submission. She had, however, already begun to think of ways to find the Mission.

Marcelline paced her room frantically. She had to think of some way to find Gabriel and release the captive militia members. Having only an inkling of power made her feel giddy. She could not help but smile as she realized her femininity could play a major role in the near future.

"They don't know that he's at the Spanish Mission." Marcelline said to herself, "and, they have a whole lot of maps just _sitting_ around in the map room. If I could find an old map with the mission on it, I could find Gabriel!"

In the still of the night, Marcelline crept down to the map room and slipped through the door. The house was completely silent and she was careful not to creak the floorboards too much. With only a meager candle to light her way, she ruffled through some maps, finding nothing. All the maps that were used were new, improved and more detailed and up to date. No Spanish Missions anywhere. Marcelline cursed under her breath and started back up stairs, starting back at square one. Before she could enter the hallway, the door opened.

It was Tavington.

"Oh! Colonel!" She said with a startled whisper, "I…..I thought I heard something down here and I came to check."

"I thought I heard something too—and I found you." He said, with his pistol in hand.

"Yes…well, it must've been a mouse."

"Funny you should hear something as small as a mouse all the way from your room."

"Yes…well, I have exceedingly good ears."

"I wouldn't peg you for one to investigate things that go bump in the night, Miss Essex."

"Yes…well, I suppose living with such _brave_ men (like yourself) has helped me gain courage."

"Against mice?"

"Against mice."

Tavington gazed at her uncertainly. Just what was Marcelline doing downstairs at such an odd hour of the night? He didn't think too much of it. Women had the tendency to be conniving but only when it came to sex and romance—not actual intelligence. He dismissed her simply because she was a woman. He knew that all Marcelline would ever be good for was a pretty wife and a good way to relieve some tension. Tavington thought about the relief he longed to feel as he continued to gaze at Marcelline in the candlelight. She only had a shawl around her shoulders and a night gown on. Her hair was in a long, loose braid and her nightcap was tied, but hanging down her back.

Tavington envisioned himself taking Marcelline right then and there. The maps would fly everywhere—

"Colonel," she said firmly and snapped him out of his reverie, "would you please let me pass?"

"Certainly." Tavington cleared his throat,stood aside and watched Marcelline climb the stairs back to her bedroom.

His desire for her grew with every passing day yet he did not know how to win her. She wasn't some prostitute at a brothel in Liverpool that he could just bed and pay. He never admitted to never fully understanding women and their ways for he never really cared to understand. Yet Marcelline was irresistible to him. Twice he'd kissed her and twice he'd been rejected. There was one thing he was definitely certain of, however. He knew that Marcelline was attracted to him. He could feel it.

Marcelline went to bed, fiercely hoping Tavington's suspicions were not aroused. She awoke the next day and took her horse to the nearest town of Pembroke. There she was certain she could find information on the Mission.

The town was just rising for the day when she arrived and Marcelline found that the printer's was just opening.

"Excuse me good sir," she said, "I was wondering if you knew of an Old Spanish Mission around these parts?"

"I'm sorry, a _what_?" He shouted, "I'm a bit deaf!"

"Yes, of course, an OLD SPANISH MISSION!"

"Oh yes!" He said, "continue through town, into the forest. You'll find a stream. The stream forks. Follow the left fork all the way to the pine grove. Just beyond the grove is the Mission. What do you want the mission for? Its been abandoned for years!"

"Thank you sir!" Marcelline cried, digging her heels into her horse, "just out for a bit of adventure!"

And with that, she was gone. The journey was longer than she had expected. The sun was high in the sky by the time she got to the pine grove and navigating through the forest with her horse was not easy. The ground grew increasingly soft and the Spanish Moss became thicker, hanging in beards off of the tree branches. All sunlight was blocked out from the tree canopy and a light mist enshrouded the area. This was an ingenious hiding place. So random and out of the way.

In the murky distance, stone ruins of a wall could barely be seen. As Marcelline approached, the intermittent murmur of men's voices could be heard. Her horse whinnied nervously.

"Who goes there?" Someone called out through the mist.

Marcelline froze for a moment as she heard them cock their guns.

"Marcelline Essex." She called back uncertainly.

There was a bit of a ruckus amongst the men.

"Marcelline?" A familiar voice called.

"…..Gabriel?"

"Marcelline!" Was the reply.

She dismounted hastily and ran through the shallow water to the voice. Gabriel appeared out of the mist, with a broad, disbelieving smile on his face.

"How on _earth_ did you find me?" He cried.

"A miracle. It was a miracle." Was all she could say. "We've come a long way from Morristown, haven't we?"

"Yes." Gabriel laughed. "I cannot believe you are here."

"I am staying at Fort Carolina," Marcelline explained, "the officers have part of your militia there. I wanted to find you to tell you and…just to see you."

Gabriel wanted to pick Marcelline up and swing her around—she was a heavenly sight for his sore eyes. But he did not, not with his father coming up behind him.

"And who is this?" Benjamin Martin stepped forward, with a rifle in his hand.

"This, Father, this is Marcelline Essex." Gabriel beamed. "I met her in Morristown when I was serving and now, by God's providence, she is here. She is living at Ft Carolina, almost as a captive, and she's come to give us new on our fellow militiamen. Marcelline, this is my father, Benjamin Martin."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Essex," Benjamin Martin made a slight bow, "anyone who makes my son smile that much deserves my greatest affection."

Marcelline blushed. "I am just happy that your son is safe now."

"Can you stay awhile?" Gabriel took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"I suppose I could," she replied shyly.

"I'll just be…over…here…far …away." Ben Martin strolled back over to the other men who'd congregated to get a view of Marcelline.

"My, your father is lenient," she said, "my father would _never_ be like that!"

"I suppose its because I'm a son and not a daughter." Gabriel chuckled. "Shall we take a little stroll through this picturesque countryside?"

Marcelline laughed as Gabriel gestured to the dead, rotting trees, croaking bullfrogs and skunk cabbage. He just wanted her alone. They made their way to a little tiny island in a small stream, far from the Mission, far from any person around.

"I am so happy, " Gabriel said, "just seeing you has refreshed my passion to fight once more. I never thought I'd see you again."

"Nor I!" Marcelline responded, all the while coyly stepping away as Gabriel stepped towards her, "I am happy also."

He smiled.

She smiled.

Gabriel slowly stepped towards her and gently put his hands on her shoulders. Marcelline's cheeks grew red and she looked away. But Gabriel gingerly lifted her chin up and planted a tender kiss on her lips. Marcelline felt as if she were melting. This was what a kiss should feel like. Everything she'd ever dreamed of, but nothing she'd ever imagined. The kiss seemed to last forever in silence.

They returned to the Mission and now the sky was even darker. The day was getting older.

"I must leave," Marcelline said, realizing how late it was, "they'll probably send out a search party if I don't return soon."

"You don't have to go back to them!" Gabriel pleaded.

"No Gabriel," Ben said, "its best she go back now. We don't want anyone finding the Mission. And we don't want any extra trouble."

She bid everyone good bye but not before stealing a few fiery glances with Gabriel.

"I know the area surrounding Ft Carolina well," Ben Martin said as Marcelline mounted her horse, "I will be there tomorrow. Just wait."

"Yes, Mr. Martin. I will be waiting with bated breath."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13….

Thanks for the reviews you guys. I appreciate it!

On with the show…

Twilight had fallen on the South Carolina countryside. The dragoons were surveying the surrounding lands, searching for the Ghost. The crickets and cicadas buzzed through the thick air and the humidity made the men's green coats almost impossible to bear.

The Dragoons, for once, weren't really being productive. Perhaps it could've been blamed on the fact that their commander was decidedly preoccupied. The laziness got the better of Tavington and he decided that the group should take a rest before making the long journey back to the fort. He leaned up against a tree and looked out into the field before him. The dragoons also had made themselves comfortable. A fire was started and some food was being prepared. Bordon and a few of the lieutenants were laughing, telling jokes but Wilkins was quiet. He was reading something. Tavington was intrigued by him and watched silently. He was just close enough to recognize the writing, it must've belonged to a woman.

"Wilkins," he said, "what are you reading?"

"A letter from my wife," Wilkins responded, "I just received it yesterday."

"A letter? She writes to you?"

"Yes," he said, "it's always nice to have the bond of letter writing even if a loved one is far away."

"Yes, yes of course," Tavington murmured, feigning that he understood.

But his mind was already at work. He'd write a letter to Marcelline! But what could he say?

_Dear Marcelline_

_I know our relationship has been strained at best. But I'm sure you can put your pettiness behind you. Besides, we both know how attracted you are to me…._

No, no, he had to start over again. He threw the paper into the fire.

_Dear Marcelline,_

_Enough of your childishness. You father has told me that I shall make a good match for you and I quite agree with him. We'd make a marvelous couple. With your money and my wit, there is nothing that could stop us. My devilish handsomeness doesn't hurt either…._

No. That wasn't quite right either. He also threw that paper into the fire.

_Dear Marcelline,_

_I knew that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen the moment I first saw you on that dreary November day last year. I've never felt this way about anyone before in my entire life. I can see that you are drawn to me but something is holding you back. What is it,my darling? What can I do to make understand that I could give you whatever I want – er, what you want. I long to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you without you flinching or pulling away. My heart aches for each moment that you are not near –_

NO. Definitely not. That was never going to be seen by Marcelline—ever. Tavington tore it up into little tiny pieces and _then_ threw it into the fire.

In the distance, he heard the muffled beat of hooves on moistened ground. He turned to see Marcelline herself on horseback. Tavington stood up uncomfortably. He couldn't help but feel that even though Marcelline would never see the drafts of letters he'd written, that she could read his emotions plainly on his face.

"Miss Essex," he cleared his throat, fighting with himself so as not to be caught up in the way her tousled, windblown hair fell about her shoulders, "what are you doing out here?"

"I…" Marcelline began uneasily; she felt Tavington could see that she'd been up to something suspicious, "I…just wanted to ride a bit…before…supper."

"Ah yes," he said, " well, …carry….on."

"Yes," was all she could say before galloping off back to the fort.

Tavington did correctly notice Marcelline's glowing face. He merely attributed it to riding and fresh air. He watched her ride off, completely ashamed of himself. Tavington stood there, astounded by his own foolishness and weakness. His shame swiftly turned to anger. Conquering a woman should be no different than winning a battle! So why was he so inept? He soon seethed with rage at his own folly. How dare he act like that in front of his men?

"Let's go!" He said stomping over to his horse, "we've had enough for today. We'll find them tomorrow."

Ok, So I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "Could Penny Lane be seriously with this fluff chapter?" So to answer your question, I was in a very silly mood today and I decided to write this. A lot of my writing is intended to be funny and this chapter is certainly no exception. So please, take Tavington's out of characterness with a grain of salt.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Thanks for the review guys!!! I love you.

Marcelline kept an eye out all day long for the arrival of Benjamin Martin to negotiate the freeing of his men. Yet he did not come. She wondered if anything had happened. Absent mindedly, Marcelline got ready for the ball at Middleton Place. She hated going to balls in such infernal heat.

"Miss Marcelline," said Violet, her maid, "I need to lace you up now."

Marcelline nodded and, in her shift, held onto her bedpost. Violet laced her up very, very tightly--much tighter than anything Anna had ever done. As Marcelline adjusted her breathing habits to accomodate to the stay, Violet held the petticoat out for Marcelline to step into. Some more lacing, adjusting and smoothing and Marcelline was dressed. As she appraised herself in particularly striking pink silk dress with striped white and pink petticoat, she thought of how much she hated pink. She had to remind herself to find a suitable tailor in Charles Town somewhere. Violet powered Marcelline's face, neck and decolletage and wig. Marcelline groaned. Her hatred for pink was only second to the powder she wore for formal balls.

An hour later Marcelline was in the most elaborate coach she'd ever seen. Lord Cornwallis sat across from her and next to him was General O'Hara. The men, not really knowing the girl, made polite small talk.

"So Miss Essex," Cornwallis started, "I hope you find your stay comfortable?"

"Yes, sir, I do. Thank you so much for putting up with my presence before I go to England..." Marcelline tried to smile, " I really appreciate it."

"No bother!" Cornwallis said warmly, "your father is a good friend of mine. It's the least I could do."

"Miss Essex," O'Hara piped up, "what have you been doing to pass your time? I daresay the fort may be a dull place!"

"Oh you know, what one would do!" Marcelline smiled widely, thinking of what she really had been doing, "I've been riding _all_ over the place!"

Tavington, meanwhile had chosen to ride to the ball on horseback. He couldn't help but put his two cents in after he heard her comment.

"Yes, Miss Essex," he said scathingly, "you've been doing alot of riding."

Marcelline shot him a look that Tavington couldn't respond to--

"I hope that damned tailor figured out something decent for my coat tonight!" Cornwallis grumbled bitterly as the carriage road up to the front of the house.

As soon as it stopped, Cornwallis hurried out and up the stairs immediately after greeting his hosts. The party was already in full swing out on the veranda.

"Miss Essex?" O'Hara offered his arm to Marcelline as they were announced. With a surprised smile, she took it and he lead her to the backyard, which overlooked a beautiful lake.

Not knowing anyone, Marcelline was rather apprehensive. A sea of powdered faces lay before her, much of whom were at least twenty years older than her. She stayed with O'Hara for a time, comforted by his friendliness. She danced a few minuets with him until Tavington arrived and tapped O'Hara on the shoulder.

"May I have this dance, Miss Essex?" He asked suavely.

"You may."

They danced one minuet before going out onto the back lawn. There, they chatted with Cornwallis and O'Hara about unimportant things: weather, hunting, balls in general and the party guests.

Out on the lake was the supply ship. Whilst drinking champagne, the guests at Middleton Place witnessed what the thick Mrs Simms thought were fireworks. Instead it was the supply ship blowing up. Sparks flew up high into the night sky and the proud schooner, once a staple in the massive British fleet resembled an Anglo Saxon funeral pyre.

"So that's what Mr Martin meant when he said 'I'll see you tomorrow'" Marcelline chuckled and took a sip of her champagne.

Tavington, next to her groaned and downed his glass. He continued through the party with a determined abandon, drinking at will and dancing a lot. Marcelline watched him closely as she talked with other officers and danced with South Carolina loyalist dandies.

The night trudged on as Cornwallis stubbornly declared that the Continental farmers who so insulted him would not ruin his party. The weather grew colder and Marcelline was the only one out in the pale moonlight, all of the guests had gone inside. Tavington crept up silently behind her. She hadn't a clue that he was there. He silently hesitated—Marcelline had rejected him twice before. No matter, once they got to England, they would marry and that would be the end of it. He tried being courteous but it didn't work. It was only Marcelline's loss. Tavington studied her in the moonlight. Her head was down and her shoulders were shaking slightly. He stepped towards her again and she turned around, startled.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean—" Tavington started uncertainly. A weird sense of unease overtook him when he said that Marcelline's eyes were moist and wet, making streaks in the powder on her face.

"No, no," She said wiping her eyes hastily, "I'm all right."

There was a pause.

"I just don't want to leave." She said finally, turning back to look at the night blanketed landscape.

Tavington hesitantly drew closer to her and offered her a handkerchief to smooth her powder. Marcelline took it reluctantly. He watched as she wiped it across her cheeks. What a small, scared child she was. If Tavington had known better he would say he felt sorry for her, but he didn't.

"How do I look?" She sniffed, handing his handkerchief back.

"Beautiful." He heard himself say.

A/N I know this is a weird chapter but it will all make sense in the end. I promise. And don't get used to Tavington being all tender and stuff. That's not gonna last long. J


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The next morning was cool, cloudy and a nice change from the strangling heat of the normal South Carolina summer. Marcelline chose to stay in, as she did after every party. As she was taking some tea in the front drawing room, she could hear some ruckus outside of the fort gates. She rushed to the window. It was not Tavington, as she'd originally thought. A lone man came galloping up with a flag of surrender gripped in his hand. It was Benjamin Martin.

Marcelline could not help but smile as she opened up the front door a crack and watched furtively as he dismounted and conversed with the officers. They began to lead him up the steps and into the house. Marcelline quickly backed up and made herself scarce, surveying the scene as he was lead into Cornwallis' private offices with two large Great Danes.

"The Colonel will be with you, " the lieutenant said, "in a moment."

"Thank you," was the response.

On the quietest tiptoe possible, Marcelline crept through the hall to the office. She poked her head in. Ben Martin was awaiting Lord Cornwallis patiently, pacing the room.

"Mr Martin," she whispered.

"Miss Essex!" He cried, then quieted himself, "it does me well to see you. I hope you've been well?"

"Only fair," she replied, checking over her shoulder to see if anyone was coming. She then slipped into the room, "how is Gabr--I mean, I hope your son is well?"

"Yes, yes, Gabriel is fine. He...misses your company."

Marcelline blushed and looked at her feet. Ben Martin produced an envelope and placed it into her hand. Marcelline's face brighted with a surprised gasp.

"From Gabriel?"

"Yes."

"Thank you!" She cried, clutching it to her chest. Then Marcelline realized, "Mr. Martin...what brings you here, into the lion's den?"

Martin's smile lessened only slightly as he explained he was attempting to barter with the colonel. He'd set up a decoy of British soldiers on a distant hillside so he could trick the Colonel into releasing his men who languished in a makeshift jail in the fort courtyard.

Marcelline was about to reply but she could hear the Colonel conversing with an officer right outside the door. She made a swift sign of gratitude for the envelope and scurried out the door which led to the library. The door closed just in time as Cornwallis entered the room. Marcelline ran her fingers over Gabriel's handwriting before tearing open the envelope.

_Dear Marcelline_

_I miss you every day that I live and yet I know that your presence in my life has made me stronger. For that, I am eternally grateful. I know that my true life will begin once the war is over and we are free to live without the yoke of England on our necks. I hope that you are faring well and I hope that I will see you soon. _

_I cannot condone your association with the monster who murdered my brother, but I know that it cannot be helped. If I had my way, you'd be living with my aunt at her plantation on the Santee. Yet if that monster lays even one finger on you, let me know immediately. God help him if he does. I long to hold you, I long to kiss you. But for now, we must wait. All we can do is wait._

_Yours forever_

_Gabriel_

Marcelline pressed the letter to her chest. Tavington had killed Gabriel's brother? The news cut her to her core.Never again would she regard him in the light she'd seen him in the night before. She watched as Ben Martin left the fort, only to meet face to face with Tavington. Through the window, she could see that their encounter was hostile and quick. Relieved to see Martin leaving without consequence, Marcelline exhaled as Tavington stormed into the house, exchanging heated words with Cornwallis. Quickly shot down under the flag of surrender, Tavington decided to sulk in the library.

He was surprised to see Marcelline already in the room with her back turned to him, seeming not to notice his presence. He quietly closed the door. He was even more surprised to hear the words coming from her lips:

"I love you Gabriel," as she folded the letter up and put it in her bodice.

Tavington wasn't quite sure what she had said so he stalked toward her, speaking dangerously low, "you received mail today, Miss Essex?"

Startled, Marcelline whirled around to face him. "Yes. I did."

"That's so unusual," Tavington kept his fury just below the surface, "for the courier has not even come yet today."

"Well," Marcelline's heart dropped to her stomach. She searched for a lie, "I received the letter yesterday and didn't get to open it until today."

"You're lying. Why do you lie to me?" Tavington hissed softly.

"I don't lie to you."

"But, Miss Essex, you do."

Marcelline's eyes widened as he stalked up to her, his gaze never releasing hers.

"I feel like I am the snake charmer," he said with a tiny, malicious smile, "and you, my dear -- what a snake!"

"You are mistaken, Colonel Tavington," Marcelline began to back away from him, unable to breathe.

"Benjamin Martin was just here," Tavington began as he crept ever so much closer to her. "He had an eldest son, I remember, from the day I killed another one of his sons..."

Marcelline remained silent but didn't meet his glare.

"The day I burned his plantation..."

She closed her eyes in disbelief.

"Yes, I remember that son..." he continued, gripping her arm in his hand, "he was at the tavern in Morristown."

Tavington caught sight of a piece of paper sticking out from Marcelline's bodice.

"Why Miss Essex," he said as he tore the letter from her stay, "a _love_ letter then?"

He opened it up, read a few lines before crumpling up the paper, going over to the fire and throwing it in. Marcelline could feel hot angry tears creeping out the sides of her eyes.

"How dare you." She whispered.

"Do you love him?" His voice rose, "do you love this poor, pitiful farmer's son?"

She ran to the fireplace, crying as the letter transformed into only ashes.

"Do you? Answer me!" He cried, grabbing her by the arms. Tavington began to shake her, "do you love him?"

Marcelline held her ground as he continued to shake her. Yet he kept on bating her.

"Why?" He shouted, still cognizant that the Colonel was around in the area somewhere. Then, a little lower, "why? Why do you love him?"

She remained silent as she continued to brace herself against him.

"Do you love him?" He cried again, feeling his explosive emotions spiraling out of control.

"Yes!" She finally managed to say as his vice grip tightened on her arms, "yes, I love him. I love him because he _care_s about me. He is kind and thoughtful. He is...not like you."

Tavington was about to reply but stopped himself. He stared into Marcelline's defiant, unforgiving eyes. They suddenly had a strength in them that was never there before. They made him angry, embarrassed. How dare she insult his pride.

"Selfish whore." He muttered.

Incensed, Marcelline raised her hand to hit him. Tavington was quick, stopping her hand and striking her across the face. There was silence in the room as Marcelline slowly turned her head back to him with tears flowing down her cheeks. Feeling perversely validated, Tavington sniffed, smoothed his hair and left the room with the slam of a door. Marcelline sank to the floor in a hysterical heap in front of the smoldering ashes that was her love letter.

**A/N Please review!! I had fun writing this chapter. I hope you have fun reading it. It's not my best writing-wise but I do love it. So, no flames. :-)**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A/N: Thank you so so much for the reviews! Truly helpful! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. I know I am very slow in updating and this story has been in existence since around November of 2000. Call me a procrastinator, if you will. But I like to say that I'm a chronic sufferer of writer's block. Enjoy!

The American defeat at the Battle of Camden made living with the British nearly impossible for Marcelline. She could barely stand hearing the boast soldiers exchange gruesome stories that helped them win the battle. She yearned to rid herself of this horrific situation she was found in but she remembered what Ben Martin had told her: Don't run away. Tavington was now all too aware of her love affair with Gabriel and if Marcelline escaped the fort, she'd be putting many people in danger. She begrudgingly convinced herself to stay put, surrounded by hundreds of gloating men who made her life awful.

Tavington was not around at all during the days right after the battle. Marcelline had been sure he'd be the first to flash the victory in her face. She was, however, grateful that he was not around. This made it easier to steal away to the Black Swamp for visits to see Gabriel.

It wasn't until one balmy night that General Cornwallis requested her for dinner. Marcelline prayed as she was laced into her dress that Tavington would not be present.

With heavy steps, she descended the staircase to hear hushed, tense voices coming from the Map Room.

"I might have to resort to ungentlemanly conduct, General," she heard Tavington say, "I would say his weakness is his family. We must find them and-- well, I would wager he will be at our mercy."

Marcelline strained to hear a response from Cornwallis but couldn't make anything out. There seemed to be some sort of dismissal and Marcelline rushed into the drawing room to hide herself. It was apparent that Tavington was leaving at that moment to find the Martin children. And what was she about to do? Have dinner with the man who given permission for their slaughter?

No.

She cursed her fear, her shaking hands. On her way back up to her room, Marcelline came across Violet, her maid, and gave her a message to tell Cornwallis that she'd had a headache and wouldn't be joining him. Tearing at her dress, Marcelline raced back into her chambers and threw on a riding dress. She opened up the door to leave.

But how? Voices of British legion officers filled the front hall, blocking her exit. Marcelline closed her door and paced for a moment before spying the trellis outside of her balcony. She threw open the French doors and swung one leg over the stone wall and took hold of the trellis. With less ease and more scratches than expected, Marcelline hopped to the ground in moments and bolted to the stables.

She found a horse, and, just as the dragoons were emerging from the main house, she was galloping off into the black woods.

Tree branches whipped across her face, leaving stinging scratches over the red mark from Tavington's hand. As Marcelline frantically steered her horse through the mire, Gabriel was startled to see her appear from the mist.

"Marcelline! What are you--"

"Gabriel!" She cried, jumping from her horse and wading through the water to get to him, "Tavington is after your brothers and sisters. You must get to them before he does."

"What's all this?" Ben Martin appeared beside his son.

"Your children, Mr Martin," Marcelline wiped her forehead, "Tavington just left to find them."

Ben wasted no time.

"To Drakespur. Now." He said to the militia, who were settling down to eat. The men dropped everything and mounted their horses.

"Thank you, my love," Gabriel managed a kiss from atop his horse before galloping off with the other men into the night.

Marcelline sighed, found her horse and made it back to Fort Carolina before the moon rose. The moon was high in the heavens when the dragoons returned. Tavington stormed into the house.

"It was as if they knew!" He shouted.

Marcelline was upstairs in her room, getting ready for bed. She shivered at the sound of his voice.

"That would be impossible!" Cornwallis voice could also be heard, "it was a spur of the moment--"

"It is not impossible!" Tavington's tone rose to a fever pitch, "not for Marcelline Essex!"

"You're not making any sense, Tavington!" General O'Hara cried.

'Sir, we shall see if she is here!"

"Tavington!"

Marcelline could hear a train of hurried footsteps up to her room. She could barely breathe as Tavington swung open the door to her bedroom. His look of satisfied triumph quickly faded from his face as he found her there, in her nightgown. General O'Hara gasped at the scene.

"How _dare_ you, man!" Cornwallis boomed."First to accuse an innocent girl of such a far fetched act! And then to violate her privacy by barging in on her! I should say this Ghost is driving you mad!"

Tavington didn't look embarrassed, only angrier.

"Forgive me," Cornwallis turned to Marcelline who'd remained paralyzed, "Miss Essex, Col. Tavington is obviously out of sorts tonight. Good night."

He lead the Colonel out and closed her door. The click of the door released Marcelline from her paralysis and she collapsed onto her bed in relief.

And so Tavington threw himself into the search for the Ghost. Everyday he'd scour the countryside in vain. Getting frustrated, he turned to the town of Pembroke, a place where he was sure people loyal to Martin lived.

"Let me apologize for Col Tavington's behavior last night," Cornwallis shook his head as he and Marcelline took tea in his Map Room, "I tell him repeatedly of the rules of honorable warfare but--oh, let me not worry your pretty head with such talk!"

Marcelline managed a polite smile. Her pretty head. What a quaint description of her.

"Lord Cornwallis," she said, "how do you feel Britain is doing in the war?"

"I feel that in light of this recent battle at Camden," he said, "you will be in England in no time, newly wed and attending lavish parties thrown in celebration of the retention of His Majesty's American Colonies!"

Even after Tavington's explosion the night before Cornwallis still expected for Marcelline to agree to marry him. If only he'd known how Tavington had reacted when he found out about Gabriel.

Marcelline looked at Cornwallis and saw the same person she'd seen in her father, her brothers and in Tavington: a man who treated women not as people but as a commodity used in the merger of families. She smiled again, and tried to fight the longing to steal a horse and live in the Black Swamp with Gabriel and the South Carolina militia.

But the late summer afternoon hung heavily in the air, a different feel than what Marcelline had been experiencing since that fateful encounter with Tavington a few weeks before. Marcelline had just been poured another cup of tea when he appeared in the doorway.

"My Lord," he bowed, and then turned to Marcelline with a chilly air, "Miss Essex."

"Yes, Colonel?" Cornwallis wiped his mouth with a lace edged napkin.

"I searched again today," Tavington reported, " it seems he is all but impossible to find, my Lord. But the Dragoons and I--well, it was my idea--we decided that a sufficient punishment was in order for those loyal to the Ghost and his aides."

Cornwallis closed his eyes in dread, "and what might that be, Colonel?"

"We burned the church in Pembroke," Tavington stated with unabashed pride, "with the members of the town in it."

Cornwallis shot up from his chair, furious. He fumbled for words for a moment before speaking.

"Miss Essex," he started, a vein in his neck bulging, "would you excuse us?"

"Certainly," Marcelline curtseyed quickly to the men and left with a swish of tafetta.

Before the door even got the chance to close all the way, Marcelline could hear Cornwallis yelling.

"How many more civilians, Colonel?" He shouted, "how many more innocent civilians have to die before the Ghost is stopped?"


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

A/N: This is a test chapter. As I've not updated since last year, this will be a short little snippet of what's been going on in my head since March 07. And if my faithful readers are still out there, thank you!!

The weeks dragged on as autumn fell upon South Carolina. The oppressive heat was no more and a lilting breeze came wafting through Ft. Carolina during the afternoons.

The tension in the fort did not abate. Tavington had thrown himself into searching for Benjamin Martin and his militia, scouring the countryside tirelessly. But it was in vain. The Ghost could not be found.

Marcelline was bored out of her mind. There was simply nothing to do at the fort and there was no one to keep her company. She took solace in one thought: as long as Tavington did not find the Martins and the militia, she knew that Gabriel was safe.

They hadn't had a meeting in over a month. Gabriel had begrudgingly convinced Marcelline that it was becoming too dangerous to keep making clandestine visits. She now spent the large majority of her time in the library reading.

Marcelline was in the library doing just that on a certain afternoon when the regiments had returned from King's Mountain. She could immediately tell by the general countenance of the men that it had not gone well for them.

"An hour!" Cornwallis cried angrily as he burst through the front doors, "An hour! And they defeated us! How could this have happened? All of Ferguson's men captured, killed or wounded! Now how am I to invade North Carolina?"

Marcelline breathed a sigh of relief. Things were not going according to plan. There was still hope for complete independence.

October grew into November. And November grew into December. Marcelline had gotten a hold of some needlework in nearby Pembroke and started up a sampler half-heartedly. She sat in the drawing room and spent more time pricking her fingers than actually making stitches.

There was a small knock on the door.

"Come in." Marcelline said, sucking on a particularly nasty needle wound. "General O'Hara. How nice to see you. Please, sit down."

"Thank you, Miss Essex." He replied and took a seat across from her.

"What brings you to the boring part of the fort?" She asked, going back to her stitches.

"Being a general." He said with a laugh, "I just needed to get away from all of them for a while. Lord Cornwallis has not been happy. Of course, he has reason to be. Many reasons in fact… Rugeley's Mills, King's Mountain, Halfway Swamp… and now there is talk of Britain declaring war on the Netherlands… ah, but let me not worry your head with such matters!"

Marcelline attempted to smile politely and played her part, "well, I do hope the fighting will cease for Christmas, at least!"

"Well," General O'Hara bought into it, "these Continentals have no shame. No respect. It didn't stop Washington from crossing the Delaware River, did it?"

She remained silent.

"Take Benjamin Martin, for example," O'Hara continued, "no respect for proper warfare! No idea of how things ought to be conducted! A travesty!"

Still, Marcelline said nothing.

"Is it…is it true that you are acquainted with him?" He asked suddenly.

"You really cannot believe Colonel Tavington—"

"Are you?"

"General O'Hara," Marcelline said with a coquettish smile on her face, "you really shouldn't read too much into what the Colonel tells you. He's merely mistaken. "

"So," O'Hara said warily, "there would be no information you'd like to tell me about the Martins? Or about the South Carolina militia?"

"No, General."

"Nothing at all?"

"No, General."

He nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Well then," he said, rising from his seat, "Christmas is indeed coming, as you've mentioned. I think it's best if possibly you could arrange a holiday dinner. I would imagine you're bored around here and it would give you something to do. What do you think of that?"

Marcelline had always enjoyed parties. Going to them, that is, not planning them. But it was something to fill up her time so she agreed.

In spite of rations, Marcelline put together a considerably lavish celebration. She'd spent the following days wandering around the surrounding area gathering holly sprigs to be placed in the windows of the fort house. She quickly avoided the tree in which she spied a cluster of mistletoe.

After the simple decorations were put into place, Marcelline began creating the menu. She surveyed the kitchen pantry and decided upon goose, mince pies, pudding, Syllabub, biscuits and pumpkin chips. One of the cooks suggested pecan tarts as well. Marcelline, having grown up in Boston, had never tried pecans but put it on the menu as well. She wanted to remind the officers exactly where they were. Adding on a colonial treat was as much rebelling as she was able.

So, on December twenty-fifth, the officers under Lord Cornwallis, including Col. Tavington, assembled in the hall at Fort Carolina for a Christmas dinner. A fire was roaring in the fireplace. A very light flurry had begun to drift to the ground outside as the group began eat.

Marcelline couldn't help be proud of her accomplishments and was met with unending praise from the officers.

"These pecans are delicious!" Cornwallis exclaimed, "we must bring a bushel back to England!"

They ate until the evening and jugs of wine were brought out to let the celebration continue. Many of the men forgot Marcelline's place and urged her to go glass for glass with them. Not one to pass up a challenge, she did so and found herself having a lot of fun.

Christmas had turned out to be quite unexpected. Marcelline smiled genuine smiles, laughed heartily and thoroughly enjoyed herself. They moved into the drawing room for some music as the night went on. As she crossed the hall, Tavington pulled her aside.

"Miss Essex," he started softly so the others couldn't hear, "I…I have something for you."

"For me?" She asked, surprised, "why?"

Tavington did not reply, merely placing a box in her hands. She looked up at him, trying to read his face.

"I purchased it in Boston as a souvenir," he said, "to bring back with me to England. But I feel you should have it."

With that, Tavington excused himself and ducked into the drawing room to rejoin the party. Marcelline took a seat on the staircase and opened the box carefully. Inside it was a small piece of white 

material carved with a nautical scene on its surface. A scrimshaw. It was a symbol of the whaling industry. It was a symbol of New England and of Boston. It was the most perfect gift she'd ever received.

Marcelline took a quick intake of breath and tried to compose herself but the emotions were too great. This man who'd turned her life upside down, this man who'd killed mercilessly, this man who'd struck her, this man who'd treated her with no respect, had given her such a meaningful token.

She tried to grapple with some sort of explanation as to why he'd bestowed her with such a gift but could not come up with anything. Resolved, albeit confused, Marcelline returned to the party.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Hey guys! Thanks for sticking around! Here we go again…..

No one dared to notice Marcelline lightly dabbing the corners of her eyes as she slipped into the drawing room to hear the harpsichord sonata that Bordon was playing. She smoothed her skirt and leaned up against the doorframe, trying to come to terms with her current situation.

Tavington had been despicable to her. He treated her with no respect throughout their entire journey and now, how was she to react? She ultimately could not accept the gift. If she kept it, what would he expect? Marcelline knew full well that her father already wholeheartedly approved of the perspective match.

But she couldn't think about that now. She'd think about Gabriel instead, how he was somewhere, not too far away, thinking of her on this Christmas.

Three weeks later, Marcelline found herself in a tent in the wilderness of South Carolina. Just a few miles away she could hear the cannons firing, the men shouting. Cowpens. She couldn't bear the screams and collapsed to the ground on her knees . She began to pray.

She prayed, hoping Gabriel was still alive, hoping he'd still be alive after the battle. She prayed for Benjamin Martin's safe return and, much to her own surprise, for Tavington's as well. She was confused at her own actions but at the same time could not stop herself. What was this feeling? It was the sensation she'd experienced every time he forced his eyes to lock with hers. It was the sound of his boots first entering the front hallway of her Boston home. It was the warmth she felt at the Middleton Place ball when he'd stood behind her on the veranda silently.

Marcelline couldn't be certain that what she was feeling wasn't love.

Cannons continued to thunder in the distance. The far off din of men's cries of agony shook her to her core. She could not take it cacophony anymore and suddenly, there was darkness.

Many hours later, she awoke. It was light outside but Marcelline had expected it to be dark. She shifted, groggy, and noticed she'd been moved to a cot. Shooting upright, Marcelline was startled by the fact that upon looking through the flaps, the tent was in an entirely different location.

Had the British lost? Had the Martins come to reclaim her as she slept?

Any dreams Marcelline had of rescue flew out the window as a weary doctor came in, his hands blood-soaked, his apron dark red.

"Oh splendid," his accent spoke of the northern moors. She'd not been rescued. "You're awake. I need an extra pair of hands."

"P-Pardon me?" Marcelline could not quite comprehend what he was saying.

"While you were getting your forty winks, love," he spat acerbically, "we retreated."

"You mean…the Continentals took the field?"

The doctor nodded as he tore the blanket Marcelline had been using into strips.

"Most that were wounded are dead—or soon will be." He continued emotionlessly, "I need help performing a few procedures."

"But I've never—"

"No worries." He grabbed her hand and led her out into the camp. "Just do what I say."

The area was littered with soldiers everywhere on the ground. There were some on cots, mostly officers, but the majority were just on the bare ground, writhing in pain. Their moans of anguish hypnotized Marcelline, forcing her stomach to churn. She gazed emptily at those on the ground and was about to collapse next to them until the doctor grabbed her arm.

"Don't pay any mind to anything but the sound of my voice," he said firmly.

Marcelline nodded and focused her eyes on the patient before her. He had a shallow head wound that had bled profusely all over his face but that injury was not what the doctor had focused on. The patient was writhing around, grasping his arm in pain. The doctor told Marcelline to unwrap the dressing and she automatically did so. She forced every single thought out of her mind as she peeled the linen away to reveal a gaping, pulsing bullet hole.

"See that belt?" The doctor produced an ordinary pair of blacksmith's pliers.

Marcelline nodded dumbly, she had retreated safely into a robotic daze. But she'd successfully placed the belt into the soldier's mouth. Upon looking fleetingly into his eyes, she gasped violently, pushing herself away. It was Tavington.

"Come on now, girl!" The doctor got annoyed. "Hold him so he doesn't thrash about!"

Marcelline regained some feigned composure and held Tavington's shoulders. With a few clumsy, hurried maneuvers, the doctor extracted the bullet. She could feel the bile rising in her throat but the doctor quickly shoved strips of the blanket into her hands. He quickly wrapped Tavington's arm up and, as he did so, Marcelline found herself grasping Tavington's good hand. He slipped out of consciousness but before he did so, he spoke:

"Marcelline, I love you."

***

Over the next few weeks, the British were caught in a few skirmishes and battles which turned into a full retreat as they marched toward Virginia.

Tavington had recovered well and barely looked at Marcelline, let alone had a conversation with her. He'd vaguely remembered what he'd said when he was infirmed. Marcelline avoided him as well, which was hard in the camp.

The British situation was growing increasingly unstable and dangerous. Cornwallis made the decision that it was no place for a woman such as Marcelline. He made hasty arrangements for her to be transported to Williamsburg. Tavington was to accompany her.

"But, my Lord," he protested through gritted teeth as the wound in his arm smarted, "I have my legion to command—"

"You won't command anything until your arm has healed sufficiently," Cornwallis replied, "you cannot raise your saber!"

Tavington was silent at the beginning of the the two days' journey to Williamsburg. He did yearn to return to the front but he began to realize that this was precious alone time with Marcelline. It was another chance to patch things up further.

Marcelline, on the other hand was consumed with thoughts of Gabriel. One evening, as they trotted through a thick Virginia forest, she outright asked him the question that had been burning in her mind since Cowpens.

"Did you see Gabriel Martin fall in battle?"

"Are you still concerned for the farmer's son?" Tavington spat.

"Yes," Marcelline could feel the hot tears beginning to escape from her eyes. "Could he be alive or—"

"Probably dead." The words came out easily.

"Why would you say such a horrid thing?"

"Horrid or not, it's the truth." Tavington sighed, glad to have regained his composure at the expense of Marcelline's. "The British may have lost Cowpens but the rebel forces sustained substantial injuries—you can be quite certain of that. I saw it. The militia was in the center of the line. Quite odd, if you ask me. Most of them, I believe, didn't make it."

He paused to study the effect of his words. In all honesty, Tavington was speaking the truth and Marcelline realized this. There was a small chance that Gabriel had survived the battle but there was a greater chance that he had not. And there were more battles to come.

The tears started streaming down her face. Tavington sighed and stopped his horse as Marcelline stopped hers. She attempted to dismount her horse hastily but got her foot caught in the stirrup. To avert her falling, Tavington leapt off of his horse and caught Marcelline in the nick of time. He ignored the shooting pain his wound gave him. Still with her foot caught, Marcelline looked up at him as he held her in his arms. In that Virginia forest, she felt very alone. Her future was quite uncertain and she'd no one to turn to.

But, fittingly, she was caught at the last moment. She looked into his eyes and realized she wasn't alone at all. Tavington was with her. Tavington had been with her the entire time. The entire time she'd felt displaced, alone and scared, he'd been there.

He set her down carefully, still holding her close. She laid her head on his chest and could not deny that the familiar sensation she'd felt was still there.


End file.
